~*J. 


:«; 


^^ 


WORKS 

OF 

MARK  AKINSIDE,   M.D. 

IN 


HIS  LIFE,  A  FAC  SIMILE  OF  HIS  HAND- WRITING, 

AND 

AN    ESSAY   ON    THE   FIRST   POEM, 
BY     MRS.     BARBAULD. 

VOLUME    I. 


"  -A/ay  no  foul  discord  here  invade, 
"  Nor  let  thy  strings  one  accent  inuve, 
"  Except  ziihat  Farth^s  iinlroublcd  eat, 
"  'Mid  all  her  social  Iril/ts  iriui/  hear, 
"And  Heaven's  unerring  Throne  approve." 

BookL  Ode  XIII. 


NE,W-BRUNSWICK,  NEW-JEBSETt 

Printtd  by  William  Elliot, 

f  O  K   JOHN    GAUNETT. 

S')LD   IN    Nnw-YORK,    BY    T.  AKn    J.    SvORDS;      ISI    PhiI  ADEI.I'HIA,    BY 

Samusl  F.  Brawosp  :  and  in  liosTON,  BY  Thomas  and  Andrews 


^       ADVERTISEMENT    A: 

TO  THE  EDITION   OF    1772.  '^/ 

X     1  Ills  volume  contains  a  complete  Collection  of  the 
V     Poems  of  the  late  Dr.  Akinside,  either  reprinted  from 
^      the  original  editions,  or  faithfully  published  from  copies 
which  had  been  prepared  by  himself  for  publication. 

That  the  principal  Poem  should  appear  in  so  disad- 
vantageous a  state,  may  require  some  explanation.  The 
first  publication  of  it  was  at  a  very  early  part  of  the 
Author's  life.  That  it  wanted  revision  and  correction, 
he  was  sufficiently  sensible ;  but  so  quick  was  the  de- 
i^^  mand  for  several  successive  republications,  that  in  any 
*\  of  the  intervals  to  have  completed  the  whole  of  his  cor- 
»  rections  was  utterly  impossible  ;  and  yet  to  have  gone 
.  ^  on  from  time  to  time  making  farther  improvements  in 
■*^  every  new  edition  would  (he  thought)  have  had  the  ap- 
pearance at  least  of  abusing  the  favour  of  the  public. 
He  chose  therefore  to  continue  for  some  time  reprinting 
it  without  alteration,  and  to  forbear  publishing  any  cor- 
rections or  improvements  until  he  should  be  able  at  once 
to  give  them  to  the  public  complete.  And  with  this  view 
he  went  on  for  several  years  to  review  and  correct  the 
;J  Poem  at  his  leisure ;  till  at  length  he  found  the  task 
grow  so  much  upon  his  hands,  that,  despairing  of  ever 
being  able  to  execute  it  sufficiently  to  his  own  satisfac- 
tion, he  abandoned  the  puqxjse  of  correcting,  and  re- 
solved to  write  the  Poem  over  anew  upon  a  somewhat 
different  and  an  enlarged  plan.  And  in  the  execution 
of  this  design  he  had  made  a  considerable  progress. 
What  reasfjn  there  may  be  to  regret  that  he  did  not 
live  to  execute  the  whole  of  it,  will  best  appear  from 
the  perui^al  of  the  plan  itself,  as  stated  in  the  General 
Argument,  and  of  the  parts  which  he  had  executed, 
and  which  are  here  published.  For  the  person,  *  to 
whom  he  entrusted  the  disposal  of  tiis  papers,  would 
have  thought  himself  wanting,  as  well  to  tlie  service  of 
the  public,  as  to  the  fame  of  his  friend,  if  he  had  not 
produced  as  much  of  the  work  as  appeared  to  have  been 
prepared  for  publication,     in  this  light  he  considered 

•  The  Right  Honourable  Jtretniah  DjsOn. 


A  D  V  £  R  T  I  S  E  M  E  N  T. 

the  intire  first  and  second  books,  of  whicli  a  few  copies 
had  been  printed   for  the  use  only  of  the  Author  and 
certain   friends :  also  a  very  considerable  part  of  the 
third  book,  which  had  been  transcribed  in  order  to  its 
being  printed  in  the  same  manner:  and  to  these  is    ^ 
added  the  Introduction  to  a  subsequent  book,  which  in    l 
the  manuscript  is  called  the  fourth,  and  which  appears 
to  have   been  composed  at  the  time  when  the   Author 
intended   to  comprise  the   whole   in  four  books ;    bat 
which,  as  he  had  afterwards  determined  to  distribute 
the  Poem  into  more  books,  might  perhaps  more  proper- 
ly be  called  the  last  book.     And  this  is  all  that  is  exe- 
cuted of  the  new  work,  which  although  it  appeared  to 
the  Editor  too  valuable,  even  in  its  imperfect  state,  to  be 
withholden  from  the  public,  yet  (he  conceives^)  takes  in    ^ 
by  much  too  small  a  part  of  the  original  Poem  to  sup-    . 
ply  its  place,  and  to  supercede  the  re-publication  of  it.  * 
For  which  reason  both  the  Poems  are  inserted  in  this  ' 
collection. 

Of  the  Odes  the  Author  had  designed  to  make  up 
two  Books,  consisting  of  twenty  Odes  each,  including 
the  several  Odes  which  he  bad  before  published  at  dit- 
ferent  times. 

The  Hymn  to  the  Naiads  is  reprinted  from  the  sixth 
volume  of  Dodhley's  Miscellanies,   w  ith  a  few  correc- ' 
tions  and  the  addition  of  some  notes. 

To  the  inscriptions  taken  from  the  same  volume  three  . 
new  Inscriptions  are  added ;  the  last  of  which   is  the  ,' 
only  instance  wherein  a  liberty  has  been  taken  of  in-t 
serting  any  thing  in  this  Collection,  v\hich  did  not  ap-^1^ 
pear  to  have  been  intended  by  the  Autlwr  for  publica-  '. 
tion  ;  among  whose  papers  no  copy  of  this  was  found, 
but  It  is  printed  from  a  copy  which  he  had  many  years 
since  given  to  Mr.  Dyson. 

The  pieces  now  first  added,  in  this  edition,  ixith  ufac 
si7nile  of  his  hand-xvritittg,  besides  being  highly  intctHiSt- 
ing,  are  ktwim  to  be  genuine,  and  are  ccrtainlj/  no  dis- 
credit to  the  author. 


ERRATA. 
F&ge    27,  line  528,  for  summetry  read  symmetry 
Page  112,  line  715,  for  elected  read  erected. 


THE  LIFE  OF  AKINSIDE. 


Mark  AKINSIDF,  "  the  British  lAiCretins,"  wns  born  nt  Ncw- 
fa.-;tle-i)pon-Tyne,  Nov.  9,  iT'il.  His  father,  W:\rk  Akiriside,  was 
a  substantial  butc,her  in  that  town,  iiis  mother,  Mary  Limisdmi, 
was  probably  of  Si-ottish  extraction.  Both  parenis  wero  Di>senttrs. 
Mr.  lhan;i  the  prcicnt  vicr.r  of  Newcastle,  in  bis  "  Oi).-frvat;<.ns 
on  popular  Antiqtiitie.s,"  ailtges,  thiu  a  halt  which  he  ha<l  in  his  gait 
V  as  G(■ca^il)ne(]  by  the  falling  of  a  cleaver  from  iiis  failier's  t-tail  upon 
iiim,  w  hen  he  was  f.  boy. 

He  received  the  fir^t  part  of  his  education  at  the  free,  school  of 
Newcastle,  and  was  afterwards  placed  under  the  care  of  Mr.  Wilson, 
a  di.s  cnling  minister,  who  kept  an  academy  in  ihnt  tov.n,  v.here  he 
lirst  began  t  >  write  verses.  The  Virtuoso  and  'Ihe  Pod,  a  Rhajnodjj, 
wri'ten  at  Ihe  age  of  16;  hrce,  an  I'l'gij;  a  British  Pkillipir; 
and  a  f'yir.ti  lu  ydence,  at  17,  omitted  in  the  pubjicati'n  of  lis 
works  by  Mr.  Dyson,  are  to  be  found  in  volumes  7  and  8  of  i\n: 
Gentleman's  Ma.KaziFie,  dated  fiom  Nowcaslle,  and  signed  Murtus. 
They  bear  evident  mrirK>  of  early  genius. 

At  the  a^'(  of  eightii-n  lie  «as  sent  to  the  rnivrr.-^ity  of  Winbiirgh, 
that  he  ini^-lit  qualify  liimseif  for  the  otlice  of  a  dissenting  minister, 
and  received  some  assista/;ce  from  the  fund  which  the  dissenters  em- 
ploy in  educating  young  men  of  scanty  fortune,  lie  prosecuted  his 
studies  for  one  winter,  upon  tliis  plan:  but  a  wider  view  of  the 
■world,  prompting'  other  hopes,  he  determined  to  rtiidy  physic;  and 
repaid,  afterwards,  liiat  contriljuiion  which,  bciis^j  received  for  ;i  dif- 
ferent purpose,  he  justly  thought  it  dishonourable  lo  retain. 

It  is  said  that  his  greatest  work,  1  he  Plcasiira  nf  Ji/>a':^inal'o'>, 
was  written  at  M  iroeth,  on  the  bimks  of  tJie  VVen.vlwok,  which  he 
lias  celebrated  in  his  verses,  while  h;;  was  on  aiisit  to  his  rihiiions, 
befjre  h.e.  went  to  the  liiiversily  of  Kdinburgli. 

At  Kdini)ur-.'li,  he  dislinguished  himse'f  lil;e\\!sc  hv  iiis  poetical 
oonijK .sit ions.  His  ('de  on  ll.c  Winter  SoLllo-,  wliich  is  d.'J;  d  174<', 
was  certainly  coin|>osed  at  tliat  place. 

His  taste  for  poetry  facilitated  bis  iiitro<]i  ctioii  to  tlu;  most  re- 
s])ectable  !i! -rpry  assixlations  among  his  fellow  itialents,  by  whom 
liis  geniu:-  and  learning  were  hi.^iily  rispcctid  ;  toid  his  pinii'soplii- 
cal  kno^^I'dr^e  ensily  procured  him  ;uhni.'>ioii  in!.)  iha  •'  Medical  So- 
ciety," an  inlilut:ou  co^Md  uitb  the  « st;.'.)li.>li!;ient  of  a  regular 
.school  of  ph\sic  in  th;'  liiiversity,  of  whicii  he  was  elected  a  mcni- 
Urr,  Dei:.inl)  T  :5i),  I'iC. 

In  17  rl,  af;er  .-tr.yinsr  tla'c  >' rirs  at  Kdinbnr.L'h,  he  rrni''.vcd  <«u 
I.eyden,  in  p'  rsnit  of  ni(:.;i<;.l  knowledge,  vlier.t  he  conti acted  an 
intimate  frii  nilship  V.  l;h  Jc.  un'a'i  I':,  i"i.  I. so.  who  v.  as  jT', scenting 
the  study  of  the  civil  lav.iniL.it  IniMr-irv-.  After  re- ui'tig  three 
y<;irs  ar  Lt  ydcn,  he  took  his  degree  of  l)M-lor  in  }'liysic,  M;iy  I*^, 
\1\l,  and  published  an  inai'gnrid  dis.s('rl;it'Oi!,  aci'oidin'^  to  the  C!>- 
'om  of  the  Dutch  Ui.'ivcrjitie.'.,   /'c  ortu  i:t  iicrcmcnlu  laius  h:<ir:ii:t, 


vi  THELIFEOFAKINSIDE. 

in  which  he  displaj-ed  his  medical  sagacity,  by  attacking  some  opin- 
ions of  I,euweiihoek,  and  other  writers,  at  that  time  very  generally 
received,  and  by  proposing  an  hypothesis,  which  has  been  since  a- 
dopted  by  the  best  physicians  and  philosopliers. 

He  now  returned  to  England  with  his  friend  Mr.  Dyson,  and  the 
same  year  published  The  Pleasures  of  Imagination,  which  was  in 
general  received  with  great  applause. 

When  the  copy  was  ofl'cred  to  Dodsley,  by  whom  it  was  publish- 
ed, the  price  demanded  for  it,  which  was  120/.  being  such  as  he 
was  not  inclined  to  give  precipitately,  he  carried  the  work  to  Pope, 
who,  having  looked  into  it,  advised  him  not  to  make  a  niggardly  of- 
fer, for  "  this  was  no  evei-y-day  poet.'' 

Warburton  being  dissatisfied  with  a  note  in  the  third  book,  in  which 
he  adopts  Shaftesbury's  assertion  of  the  efficacy  of  ridicule  for  the 
discovery  of  truth,  thought  proper,  in  a  preface  to  one  of  his  publi- 
cations, to  make  some  severe  strictures  upon  him  ;  in  which,  how- 
ever, he  was  attacked  as  a  philosopher,  not  as  a  poet. 

He  was  defended  by  liis  friend  Mr.  Dyson,  in  an  anonymous 
"  Epistle  to  Mr.  Warburton,  occasioned  by  his  treatment  of  the 
Auth(!r  of  the  Pleasures  of  Imagination,''  in  which  there  are  several 
sensible  observations ;  but  the  style  is  uncouth  and  unpleasant. 

Warbiirtou's  strictures  on  Akinside,  were  afterwards  reprinted  in 
the  postscript  to  the  dedication  to  the  "  Free-thinker,''  prefi.xed  to 
the  tlr.->t  volume  of  the  "  Divine  Legation,"  without,  however,  any 
notice  being  taken  of  what  had  been  written  in  his  defence. 

Bfing  now  to  live  by  his  profession,  he  first  commenced  Physi- 
cian at  Northampton,  where  Dr.  Stonehouse  then  practised,  with 
such  reputation  and  success,  that  a  stranger  was  not  likely  to  gain 
ground  upon  him. 

Dr.  Kippis,  who  then  resided  at  Northampton  fur  education,  re- 
lates, that  Dr.  Doddridge  and  Akinside  carried  on  an  amicable  de- 
bate concerning  the  opiniens  of  the  ancients,  with  regard  to  a  future 
state  of  rewards  and  punishmfnts,  in  which  Akinside  supported  tht: 
firm  l)ehcf  of  Cicero  in  pai-ticular,  in  this  great  article  of  natural 
religii.i:>. 

On  his  quitting  Xorthampton,  iic  would  perliaps  Iiavc  been  re- 
duced to  great  exigencies  in  making  his  way  as  a  physician;  but 
that  Mr.  Dyson,  with  an  ardour  of  friendship  that  has  no  examples, 
supported  iiim  wl)ile  Ik;  was  endeavouring  to  make  himself  known. 

Mr.  Dys  )n  had  studied  the  law,  and  Ijecn  called  to  the  bar;  but 
in  a  .^hort  time,  having  imrchased  of  Mr.  Hardinge  his  place  of 
clerk  of  the  House  of  Commons,  he  quitted  Westminster  Hall,  and 
i  ::  the  purpose  of  introducing  Akinside  to  acquaintance  in  an  opu- 
lent neighbourliood  near  the  town,  bought  a  house  at  North-E,id, 
Hampstead,  where  they  dwelt  together  during  the  summer  season  ; 
frequenting  the  long-room,  and  all  clubs  and  assemblies  of  the 
inh.ibitants. 

At  these  meetings.  Sir  John  Ha-mkins  relates,  that  Akinside  was 
for  dispiriyi.i;,'  those  talents  which  had  acquired  him  the  reputation 
he  enioyed  in  other  companies ;  "  bat  here,"  he  observes,  "  they 
were  of  little  use  to  him;   on  the  contrary,  they  tended  to  engag'- 


THE    LIFE    OF    AKINSIDE.  vii 

him  in  disputes  that  betrayed  him  into  a  contempt  of  those  that  dif- 
fered in  opinion  from  him." 

It  was  found  out  that  lie  was  a  man  of  low  birth,  and  a  dependpnt 
on  Mr.  Djson;  circumstances  that  furnished  those  whom  he  of- 
fended with  a  ground  of  reproach  that  reduced  him  to  the  necessity 
of  asserting  that  he  was  a  gentleman. 

Little  could  be  done  at  Hampstead  after  matters  had  pi-oceedcd 
to  this  extremity.  Mr.  Dyson  parted  with  his  villa  at  North-Eiul, 
and  settled  his  friend  in  a  small  house  in  Bloomsbury  Square,  as- 
signing him,  with  unexampled  liberality,  300/.  a  year,  which  en- 
abled him  to  keep  a  chariot,  and  make  a  proper  appearance  in  the 
world. 

"  If  our  princes  and  nobles,"  says  Mr.  Hayley,  "  have  not  equal- 
led those  of  other  kingdoms  in  liberality  to  the  great  poets  of  their 
countrj',  England  may  yet  boast  the  name  of  a  private  gentleman, 
who  discovered,  in  this  respect,  a  most  princely  spirit.  No  nation, 
eitiier  ancient  or  modern,  can  produce  an  example  of  muniitcence 
more  truly  noble  than  the  annual  gratuity  which  Akinside  reoeived 
from  Mr.  Dyson ;  a  tribute  of  generous  and  alTectiouate  admiration, 
endeared  to  its  worthy  possessor  by  every  consideiation  which  could 
make  it  honourable  both  to  liimscif  and  to  his  [matron.'' 

At  London  he  was  ki...wn  as  a  poet  by  The  Pieas'ircs  of  Imagina- 
tion, and  the  I'.pi  lie  to  titiio,  which  were  followed  in  1745,  by  Orf<?i- 
on  several  Sn'-'j'xts,  written,  as  he  tt-lls  us,  "  at  very  diflerent  inter- 
vals, and  with  a  view  to  very  different  manners  of  expression  and 
ver.-iitlcation." 

These  performances  apper.red  bcf  )re  he  was  24  years  of  age  ;  hv.i 
he  uas  afterwards  more  slov.-  in  his  publication*.  His  Ode  to  the  j-'art 
o'"  Huntingdon  came  out  in  1748,  and  in  1758  he  attempted  to  rouse 
the  national  spirit  by  an  O.le  to  the  Connfii/  (ientlcmcn  of  ['.upland. 

His  poetical  repulatiou  was  now  coiiiplftely  e.-tablished.  Uv  ad- 
vaac-:;:]  gradually  in  miidical  reputation,  but  never  atlainod  any  great 
extent  of  pracfict;  or  ('minence  of  popularity. 

Akiiisiil;  a;;i)rars  to  ha\c  used  every  endeavour  to  become  popit- 
hr;  "  btit  f!  ;■  .itcd  t!i(  in  all,''  says  Sr  J  ihn  Hawkin-^,  "  by  the 
high  opiiii.j.)  lie  (vtry  wlu  re  nmnifested  of  himself,  and  the  little 
condescension  he  showed  t'j  m,n  of  inferior  endov.mcnt.-." 

He  >cems,  iiowever,  to  !ir.\e  possessed  more  discretion  than  Sir 
Ji.lin  Hawkins  allows  liini;  ftr  besides  his  eagerness  in  forcing  liim- 
s.;lf  into  u'itice,  hy  an  ambitious  ostentation  of  elegance  and  litera- 
ture, he  p!ac(.l  himself  in  view  l)y  all  the  common  nK(lio<ls  ;  and 
anivi-d  at  most  of  the  honours  incident  to  his  profes-ion.  He  be- 
came a  Fi  How  of  the  Koyai  Sucitty,  «ns  admitted  by  ni.uidanu  s  'o 
the  <legrec  of  Dfjctor  in  I'liysic  in  the  I  niversity  of  (  nnibridsc,  be- 
came Piiysician  to  St.  Tho.ua^'s  Hospital,  v.as  elected  I'e'l  «  f  the 
College  of  Physicians,  cho-f,n  Ileadcr  of  the  Gulstonian  and  C'n*jiiau 
I-ectnrcs,  and,  on  the  establishment  of  the  Queen's  household,  ap- 
pointed one  <jf  the  Physicians  to  Inr  Majesty. 

He  contributed  to  the  "  Philosophiial  Transsactions,''  1757, 
Obserjalions  on  the  Oii'/in  ami  I'se  <f  the  Lymphatic  f'esaels  in 
AnimaU,    being  an  extract  from    the   Gulstonian  Lectures,  read 


vUi  THE    LIFE    OF    AKINSIDE. 

in  the  tlientre  of  the  College  of  Physicians,   in  June    17,55.     Dr. 
.Monro  at  Edinburgh  having  taken  notice  of  some  inaccuracies  in  this 


of 

'I  Blozv  on  the  Heart,  and  its  Effects.  Orat'w  Anniversaria  ex  Imti- 
fflo  Hiir-ceii,  &;c.  Anno  1759,  4to.  17G0,  to  the  first  volume  of 
tlK!  «•  Medioal  Transactions,"  he  contributed  Obseivutions  on  Can- 
'tis  ;  of  ike  Use  of  Jpecacuhana  in  Asthmas,  and  a  Method  of  treat- 
n-s:  White  Swellings  of  the  Joints.  He  read  at  the  College,  some  ob- 
•soryations  made  in  St.  Thomas's  Hospital,  on  the  putrid  Erysi]>elas, 
whioh  he  intended  for  the  second  \X)lume  of  the  "  Medical  Trans- 
act ions, 'but  it  was  not  returned  at  the  time  of  his  death.  He  be- 
gan to  give  fur  the  Cronian  Lecture,  A  History  of  the  Revival  of 
/earning,  fi  am  wiiich  he  soon  desisted,  as  it  was  suppose*!,  in  dis- 
gust,, souje  one  of  tlie  College  having  objected  that  he  had  chosen  a 
subject  foreign  to  the  institution. 

In  1761,  the  celebrated  Thomas  HoUis,  Esq.  purchased  a  bed 
■which  once  belonged  to  Milton,  and  in  wliich  he  died.  This  bed  he 
h-ent  as  a  present  to  Akinside,  with  the  fjHowing  card  : — "  An  Eng- 
li-ii  gcntle.aian  is  desirous  of  having  the  honour  to  present  a  bed, 
which  o»ce  bclon-ed  to  John  Milton,  and  on  which  he  died  •  and  if 
the  Doc'tor-'s  genius,  believing  himself  ob!ig(;d,  and  having  slept  oh 
that  bed,  should  proiiipt  him  to  write  an  ode  to  the  memory  of  John 
Millon,  and  the  asfertor  of  P.ritish  Lilierty,  that  gentleman  would 
think  himself  abundantly  recompensed.''— Akinside,  it  is  said,  .seem- 
fd  won.lcj-fulty  delighteil  with  this  bed,  and  had  it  put  up  in  his 
house  ;  but  it  dves  net  annear  that  he  took  any  otlier  notice  of  Mr. 
Rollis's  bencficiiou  and  request. 

In  the  ap;.'endlx  to  the  "  Memoirs  of  Mr.  HoUi.s,"  are  two  letters 
extracted  from  the  '•  Public  Advertiser,''  relative  to  his  Ode  to 
Thomas  Edu-ards,  Esq.  and  to  his  supposed  Rejlerthms  on  the  'Hcrgy, 
in  a  passage  in  7he  Pleasures  of  Jmoginaiwn.  Among  Dr.  Birch's 
papers  in  (he  Briti'^h  Museum,  are  several  letters  written  to  him 
by  Akinside. 

Af.cr  he  came  into  considerable  reputation  and  practice,  he  wrote 
little  pf>etry,  but  published,  from  time  to  time,  medical  essays  and 
observations,  in  the  "Transactions''  of  the  Royal  Society,  and  ol 
the  College  of  Physicians. 

Sir  yohn  Haivkir.s,  in  his  "  Life  of  Dr.  Johnson,"  has  drawn 
Akinside's  character  somewhat  at  large ;  and  it  is,  with  a  few 
exceptions,  highly  to  his  advantage. 

•'  Akinside  was  a  man  of  religion  and  strict  virtue,  a  philo- 
sopher, a  scholar,  and  a  fine  poet.  His  conversation  was  of 
the  most  delightful  kind,  learned,  instructive,  and  without 
any  affectation  of  wit,  cheerful,  and  entertaining.  One  of  the 
pleasantest  days  of  my  life.  I  passed  with  him,  Mr.  Dyson,  and 
another  friend  at  Putney  bowling-green-house,  where  a  neat 
and  elegant  dinner,  the  enlivening  sunhinc  of  a  summer  day,  and 
the  view  of  an  unclouded  sky,  were  the  least  of  our  gratifica- 
tions.    In  perfect  good  humour  vvitli  himself  and  all  around 


THE    LIFE    OFAKIN  SIDE.  ix 

him,  he  seemed  to  feel  a  joy  that  he  lived  ;  and  poured  out  his 
gratulationsto  the  great  Disposer  of  all  felicity,  in  expressions 
that  Plato  himself  might  have  uttered  on  such  an  occasion. 
In  conversation  with  select  friends,  and  those  whose  course 
of  study  had  been  nearly  the  same  with  his  own,  it  was  an 
usual  thing  with  liim,  in  libations  to  the  memory  of  eminent 
men  among  the  ancients,  to  bring  their  characters  into  view, 
and  thereby  give  occasion  fb  expatiate  on  those  particulars  of 
their  lives  that  had  rendered  them  famous.  His  method  was 
to  arrange  them  into  three  classes,  philosophers,  poets,  and 
legislators" 

Akinside  was  very  much  devoted  to  the  study  of  ancient 
literature,  and  was  a  great  admirer  of  the  best  philosophers  of 
antiquity,  particularly  of  Plato  and  Cicero.  His  pliilosophi- 
cal  knowledge  and  classical  taste  are  conspicuous  in  liis  poems, 
and  in  the  notes  and  illustrations  wliicli  he  has  annexed  to 
tliem.  Of  the  modern  philosophers,  Siiaftesbury  and  Hutche- 
son  were  his  greatest  favourites.  His  high  veneration  for  tlie 
Supreme  Being,  his  noble  sentiments  of  the  wisdom  and  be- 
nevolence of  the  Divine  Providence,  and  his  zeal  for  the  cause 
of  virttie,  are  apparent  in  all  his  poems.  His  Ode  to  WUliatii 
driall,  Esq.  with  the  works  of  Chaulieu,  condemns  the  licenti- 
ousness of  that  poet.  His  regard  to  the  Christian  I'evelation, 
and  his  solicitude  to  liave  it  preserved  in  its  native  purity, 
are  displayed  in  the  Ode  to  the  Bishop  of  Winchester.  The  Ode 
to  the  Author  of  the  Memoirs  of  the  Home  of  Brander.burgh, 
seems  to  have  been  written  on  purpose  to  expose  the  irreli- 
gious tenets  of  the  royal  liistorian.  He  v.'p.s  warmly  attached 
to  the  ciuse  of  civil  and  religious  liberty.  His  zeal  for  free- 
dom is  a  (li.<-tinguisl)ed  feature,  and  peculiar  cxctilence  in  th.e 
cliaracter  of  I»is  poetry.  His  pvodi;ctions  uiiiformly  glow  v/itii 
The  sacred  fire  of  liberty,  ipsomucli  that  he  well  deserves  to  be 
uliletl,  "  liic  Poet  of  tiie  Community."  Two  of  his  principal 
odes  are  directly  consecrated  to  it,  the  OJe  to  tJ,c  E  :r[  cf 
Huntingdon,  and  that  to  the  Bishop  of  Winchester. 

His  Oijifttilio  dc  l>y<?>iifri:j,  puLhshe'l  in  ]76i,  v. hioh  has 
been  twice  tran.slatod  into  I'njrlish,  was  considiTod  as  a  vrry  e  ni- 
spicuoiis  specimiii  of  I.atiiiity,  fliat  entitled  him  to  the  srimc  hfijr'.it 
of  place  jiiuoni;  tli'j  scliol.irs  as  he  ])os.-ess<j(l  before  amonu  tlio  v\it<  ; 
and  he  mi.'^hf  iiave  risen  to  a  f^realer  elevation  of  ciiaraclcr,  hut  thnt 
Ills  (.luilie.s  were  en  Id  with  his  life,  by  a  imtrid  fcNcr,  .hiiio  'Ji, 
1770,  in  the  49l!i  year  ol'  his  nz''.  11'^  was  hiuii  .1  in  the  parish 
elnircii  of  .St  .lames'.-,  Ve^tuiin-l.i-r.  Hi-,  el'rets,  and  par'ioulail/ 
liLi.  i)'«)ks  and  jjrints,  which  last  he  was  fi.nl  of  fi,U<(.U\r^,  heean.i 
the  pioiKTty  of  his  great  a'ld  intimate  friend,  Mr.  l)\soii. 

AKINSIDE,  considered  ;s  a  didactic  an<l  lyric  poet,  ranks 
with  the  most  eminent  writers  of  didactic  and  lyric  poetry,  in 
ancient  or  modern  times.  In  his  Pleasures  of  Itnaginatior.  he 
has  attempted  the  most  rich  and  poetical  form  of  didactic 


X  THE    LIFE    OF    A  K  I  N  S  I  D  E. 

writing;  and  tliough,  in  the  execution  of  the  whole,  he  is  not 
equal,  he  has,  in  several  parts,  succeeded  happily,  and  dis- 
played much  genius-  *'  For  my  own  part,  I  am  of  opinion, 
says  Cooper,  in  his  "  Letters  on  Taste,"  "  that  there  is  now 
living',  a  poet  of  as  genuine  a  genius  as  this  kingdom  ever  pro- 
duced, Shakespeare  alone  excepted.  The  gentleman  I  mean 
is  Dr.  Akinside,  the  worthy  author  of  The  Pleasures  of  Imagi- 
nation, the  most  beautiful  didactic  poem  tliat  ever  adorned  tlie 
English  language."  On  the  other  hand,  Gray,  writing  to  Dr. 
Wharton,  says  :  "  I  will  tell  you,  though  I  have  rather  turned 
over  than  read  the  poemof  your  young  friend  (Dr.  Akinside), 
that  it  seems  to  me  above  the  middling,  and  now  and  then, 
for  a  little  while,  rises  even  to  the  best,  particularly  in  de- 
scription. It  is  often  obscure,  and  often  unintelligible,  and 
too  much  infected  with  the  Hutchcsonian  jargon.  In  short,  its 
great  fault  is,  that  it  was  published  at  least  nine  years  too 
early."  This  opinion  hastily  delivered  in  a  private  letter,  be- 
fore the  poem  had  been  maturely  examined,  must  be  consid- 
ered as  too  severe.  The  obscurity  of  'J he  Pleasures  of  Ima- 
gination, when  read  with  attention,  will  cliicily  be  found  in  the 
allegory  of  the  second  book.  It  might  likewise  have  been 
better  if  the  peculiar  language  of  Hutciicson,  or  railier  of 
Sliaftesbury,  had  sometimes  been  omitted.  But  thougli  it  is 
perhaps  defective  in  some  respects,  and  redundant  in  others, 
yet  it  is  a  noble  and  beautiful  poem,  exliiliiting  many  bright 
displays  of  genius  and  faiic}-,  and  holdisig  out  sublime  views 
of  nature,  providence,  and  morality.  Akinside  himself  was 
convinced  that  it  was  publi&hed  too  caily.  "  That  it  wanted 
revision  and  correction,"  says  his  friend  and  editor,  Mr.  Dy- 
son,  "  lie  was  sufficiently  sensible ;  but  so  quick  was  the  de- 
mand for  several  successive  republications,  th:it,  in  any  of  the 
intervals,  to  have  completed  the  whole  of  liis  coi-rcctioiis  was 
u'tcrly  impossible.  He  chose  therefore  to  continue  for  some 
time  reprinting  it  without  any  alteration,  and  to  forljcar  pub- 
lishing any  alterations  or  improvements,  till  he  sliould  be  able 
at  (ince  to  give  the  whole  to  the  public  complete.  And,  with 
this  view,  lie  went  on  for  several  years  to  review  and  correct 
liib  poem  at  his  leisure,  till  at  lei.glh  he  found  llie  task  grow 
so  much  upon  his  h.inds,  that,  despairing  of  evei'  being  ajjlc 
to  execute  it  sutlicicntly  to  his  own  satisfaction,  he  abandon- 
ed the  j)ur[.ose  of  cori'ecting,  and  resol'.ed  to  v.rire  tliC  poem 
over  .".new,  upon  somewhat  a  different  :ind  enlarged  plan." 

HiK  Inscriptions  are  for  the  most  part,  simiilc,  energetic, 
and  suihciently  poetical.  His  l.ynin  to  the  '^aiads  is  iusily 
esteemed  a  cl.issical  performance.  Lloyd,  speaking  of  Ho- 
mer's hynnis,  which  he  had  some  tlioughts  of  translating, 
says:  "  They  who  would  form  the justest  idea  of  this  sort 
of  composition  among  the  ancients,  may  be  better  informed 
by  perusing  Dr.  Akinside's  most  classicid  I-yfnn  to  the  Naiads, 
than  from  anv  translation  of  Homer  or  CaUimachus."    The 


THE    LIFE    OF    AKlNSIDE.  xi 

same  writer  concluiles  liis  "  Ode  to  Genius,"  with  the  fol- 
lowing apostroplie  to  Akinside. 

And  thou,  blest  bard!  arovind  whose  sacred  brow- 
Great  Findars's  delegated  wreath  is  hung ; 
Arise  and  snatch  the  majesty  of  song 

From  dulness'  servile  tribe,  and  art's  unhallow'd  throng. 

Cooper,  the  "  English  Aristippus,"  with  ^eat  propriety, 
addressed  his  «'  Call  of  Aristippus"  to  Akinside,  by  tlie  de- 
signation of"  two-fold  disciple  of  Apollo;"  in  which  he  tells 
him,  that,  in  Elysium,  Plato  and  Virgil  shall  weave  him  a 
never-fading  crown ;  while  Lucretius,  Pmdar,  and  Horace, 
should  yield  liim  precedence  with  pleasure." 

Mr.  Murphy,  in  his  ' '  Poetical  Epistle  to  Dr.  Johnson," 
has  joined  Akinside  with  Gray  among  the  examples  which  he 
enumerates  of  "wealthy  genius  pining  amidst  its  store." 

Even  Gray  unwilling  strikes  his  living  lyre. 
And  wishes,  not  content,  for  Pindar's  fire  : 
And  that  sweet  bard,  who  to  our  fancy  brings, 
♦'  The  gayest,  happiest  attitudes  of  tilings." 
His  raptured  verse  can  throw  neglected  by, 
And  to  Lucretius  lift  a  reverend  eye. 

Dr.  Wharton,  in  his  excellent  "  Essay  on  Pope,"  calls  Akin- 
side a  didactic  poet,  who  has  happily  indulged  Iiimself  in 
bolder  flights  of  enthusiasm,  supported  by  a  more  figurative 
style  than  was  used  by  Pope  ;  and,  after  jn-oducing  a  passage 
frcjm  The  Pleasures  of  Iviagination,  adds:  "  We  have  here  a 
striking  example  of  iliat  poetic  spirit,  that  liarmoniovis  and 
varied  versification,  and  that  strength  of  imagery  which  con- 
spire to  excite  our  admiration  of  this  beautiful  poem." 

Tlie  ciiaracter  of  Akinside,  as  given  by  Dr.  ^obasoa,  n\- 
thougli  lie  acknowledges,  that  in  ttie  f;ibricati()ii  of  his  lines 
he  is  superior  to  any  other  writer  of  l)lank  verse,  is  so  unjust 
and  degrading,  that  he  must  either  liavc  been  blinded  by  pre- 
judice, or  possibly  have  never  read  him  willi  the  attention  he 
merits; — as  a  proof  of  tlie  latter,  I  need  only  copy  tlie  follow- 
ing passage  from  his  Life  by  ^uhason  ;  wherein  lie  adopts  a 
remark  made  by  Walker  in  his  "  Exercises  for  Improvement 
in  Elocution." — Speaking  of  Akinside.  "  His  picture  of  ni.iii 
"  is  grand  and  beautiful,  but  nntii'.ishyd.  Tiie  inuriortality  of 
"  the  soul,  which  is  the  natural  consequence  of  t!;e-ap]ietitcs 
«'  and  powers  she  is  invested  witli,  is  scarcely  once  !-.:nt'-d 
♦'  throughout  the  poem.  This  deficic-iicy  is  .imjjly  sup])l:( d  Ijy 
"  the  masterly  pencil  of  Dr.  Young;  v.  Iid,  H!;c  a  go;iJ  pliilosf)- 
"  pher,  has  invincibly  piovc<ltl'.':  immortality  of  man,  iVoin  the 
"  grandeur  of  his  conceptions,  and  liie  'Duwities^  and  misery  ol 
"  his  state  ;  i'ur  this  reason,  a  fi^w  paisa;^cs  are  selected  from 

*  See  l!ic  Iruiiilitci  Miottt>  f/.jin  rpi<'tiMi-,  ^.ire  I. 


xii  THE    LIFE    OF    A  K  I  N  S  I  D  E. 

"  the  "  Niirlit  Thoughts,"  which,  with  those  from  Akiiiside, 
•'  seem  to  form  ;i  comi^lete  view  of  the  powers,  situation,  and 
•'  endof  man." — But  there  is  scarcely  a  page  of  Akinside  that 
does  not  contradict  tiiis  remark  ;  refer  only  to  the  first  poem, 
book  i.  hnes  20'3,  (with  its  note)  and  436;  hoolt  ii.  lines  343 
and  456:  also  in  tlu;  enlarged  work,  book  i.  line  238,  and 
book  ii.  line  142,  whicJi  last  includes  lliat  sublime  passaije 

"  Thence  Jie  deems  of  his  own  lot,"  &c. 
— and  it  will  appear  i!;i:iccountable  how  yohnson  could  have 
lepcated  so  unfounded  an  aspersion. 

Dr.  Davxin  (as  Mms  Seward  relates)  ever  maintained  a 
preference  of  Akinsidc's  blank  verse  to  Milton's;  declarins};'  it 
was  of  higher  polish,  more  classical  piii'ity,  and  more  digni- 
fied construction. 

Dr.  Jikin,  in  his  "  Letters  on  English  Poetry,"  speaking  of 
"  The  Pleasures  of  Lnagination,"  says,  "  A  more  splendid 
"  poem,  replete  witli  rich  and  lofty  iniagery,  will  not  easily 
"  be  found  within  the  range  of  English  composition,  but  that  it 
"  cannot  be  fully  comprelicndcd  without  a  close  and  attentive 
"  perusal,  and  therefore  not  calculated  to  become  a  favourite; 
"  with  cursory  readers.  The  versihcation  is  perhaps  tlie  most 
»'  perfect  specimen  of  blank  verse  that  the  language  affords. 
"  If  it  has  not  the  compass  of  melod}'  sometimes  attained  by 
"  Milton,  it  is  free  from  his  inequalities  Not  a  line  is  harsh 
•'  nor  defective,  and  the  pauses  are  continually  varied  with 
"  the  skill  of  a  master.  His  sentiments  are  all  of  the  elevated 
•'  and  generous  kind;  his  morality  is  pure  and  libcial  ;  his 
"  theology  simple  and  sublime.  He  was  the  perjietual  fue  of 
"  Tyranny  and  Superstition,  and  stands  prominent  in  the  rank 
"  of  the  friends  of  light  and  liberty.  His  Hyvin  to  the  Naiadu 
"  is  reputed  to  be  one  of  the  m.ost  classical  ])oems  in  the  Eng- 
"  lish  language." 

We  cannot  close  tliese  testimonies  of  the  Auilior's  excel- 
lence better  than  by  the  same  words  that  Dr.  y-j'jr.sun  finishes 
the  Life  of  Thompson. 

"  The  highest  piaise  which  he  has  received  ought  not  to 
"  be  suppressed.  It  is  said  by  Lord  I^yttleton,  in  the  Prologue 
"  to  TLoinpson's  posthumous  play,  that  his  works  contained 

"  No  line  lihic/t,  dj/in-^,  he  could  ivis/i  to  blot." 

T!iis  can  with  Jiiore  justice  be  said  of  AKINSIDE.* 


*  We  have  taken  this  mode  of  tpeUing  his  name  from  hi.s  ov.-u  hand  urit- 
uc,  as  \\e!l  as  iii.,  iiri .  editions  ot  his  Poems. 


ESSAY    ON 
THE  PLEASURES  OF  IMAGINATION. 

Of  all  the  subjects  which  have  engaged  the  attention  of  Di- 
dactic Poets,  there  is  not  perhaps  a  happier  tlian  that  made 
choice  of  by  Akinside,  Tie  Pleasuret  of  Imagination ;  in 
which  every  step  of  the  disquisition  calls  up  objects  of  the 
most  attractive  kind,  and  Fancy  is  made  as  it  were  to  hold  a 
miror  to  her  own  charms.  Imagination  is  the  very  source  and 
well-head  of  Poetry,  and  nothing  forced  or  foreign  to  the  Muse 
could  easily  flow  from  such  a  subject.  Accordingly  we  see 
that  the  author  has  kept  close  to  his  system,  and  has  admit- 
ted neither  episode  nor  digression :  tlie  allegory  in  the  second 
book,  which  is  introduced  for  the  purpose  of  illustrating  his 
theory,  being  all  that  can  properly  be  called  ornament  in  this 
wliole  Poem.  It  must  be  acicnowledged,  however,  that  en- 
gaging as  his  subject  is  to  minds  prepared  to  examine  it,  to 
the  generality  of  readers  it  must  appear  dry  and  abstruse.  It 
is  a  work  which  offers  us  entertainment,  but  not  of  that  easy 
kind  amidst  whicli  the  mind  remains  passive,  and  has  nothing 
to  do  but  t«  receive  impressions.  Those  who  have  studied 
the  metapliysics  of  mind,  and  who  are  accustomed  to  investi- 
gate abstract  ideas,  will  read  it  witli  a  lively  pleasure;  but 
those  who  seek  mere  amusement  in  a  Poem,  will  find  many 
far  inferior  ones  better  suited  to  their  purpose.  The  judicious 
admirer  of  Akinside  will  not  call  people  from  the  fields  and 
the  highways  to  partake  of  his  feast ;  he  will  wish  none  to  read 
that  are  not  capable  of  understanding  him. 

The  ground-work  oi  Tlie  Pleasures  of  Imagination  is  to  be 
found  in  Addison's  Essays  on  the  same  subject,  published  in 
the  Spectator.  Except  in  the  book  wliich  treats  on  Ridicule, 
«nd  even  of  that  the  hint  is  there  given,  our  author  follows 
nearly  the  sanx;  track ;  and  he  is  indebted  to  them  not  only 
for  the  leading  thouglits  and  grand  division  of  his  subject,  but 
for  much  of  llie  colouring  also:  for  tiie  papers  ofAnuisoir 
arc  wrought  up  witli  so  much  elegance  of  langnage,  and  adorn- 
ed  with  s(j  many  beautiful  illustrations,  that  they  are  equal  t» 
the  most  finished  Poem.  Perhaps  the  obligations  of  the 
Poet  to  tlie  Essay-writer  arc  not  sufficiently  .-ulverted  to,  the 
latter  beiii^r  only  slightly  mentioned  in  the  i)reface  to  the  Poem. 
It  is  not  meant,  however,  to  insinuate  tiiat  Akinside  had 
not  various  other  sources  of  his  ideas.  He  sat  down  to  this 
work,  whicli  was  publislied  at  the  early  age  of  three  and  twen- 
ty, warm  from  the  scliools  of  oiicient  philosophy,  whose  spirit 
he  had  deeply  imbibed,  and  full  of  enthusiasm  for  the  treas- 
ures of  Greek  and  Koman  literature.  The  works  of  no  author 
have  a  more  classic  air  tijan  those  of  our  I'oet.  His  h\nin  to 
the  Naiads  shows  the  most  intimate  acquaintance  with  tiieir 
nivtliology.  Their  laws,  their  arts,  tlicir  liberty,  were  equally 
objects  of  his  warm  admiration,  and  are  frcquenll/  rcfi-rrcd  to 
jn  rarious  ;,;irts  of  his  Poems.  He  was  fond  of  the  Platonic 
philosophy,  and  mingled  with  the  splendid  visions  of  tlie  Ac- 
c 


xlv-  E  S  S  A  Y    O  N    T  H  E 

ademic  school,  ideas  of  the  fair  and  beautiful,  in  morals  and 
in  taste,  g'athered  from  the  writings  of  Shaftesbury,  Hut- 
ch ixson,  and  others  of  that  stamp,  who  then  very  much  en- 
gaged the  notice  of  tiie  public-  Educated  in  the  university 
of  Edinburgh,  he  joined  to  Ills  classic  literature  the  keen  dis- 
criminating spirit  of  metaphyslc  inquiry,  and  the  taste  for 
moral  beauty  which  has  so  much  distinguished  our  Northern 
seminaries,  and  which  the  celebrity  of  their  professors,  and 
the  genius  of  the  place,  has  never  failed  of  communicating 
to  their  disciples.  Thus  prepared,  by  nature  with  genius,  and 
by  educatif)n  with  the  previous  studies  and  habits  of  think- 
ing, he  was  peculiarly  fitted  for  writing  a  philosophical  Poem. 

The  first  lines  contain  the  definition  of  Ills  subject,  which 
he  hss  judiciously  varied  from  his  master,  Addisov,  who 
expressly  confines  the  pleasures  of  imagination  to  "such  as 
arise  from  visible  objects  only  ;"  and  divides  them  into  "  tlie 
prlm.ary  pleasures  of  the  Imagination,  which  Intirely  proceed 
from  such  objects  as  are  before  our  eyes,  and  those  secon- 
dary pleasures  of  the  iniagination  which  flow  from  the  ideas 
of  visible  objects,  wlien  the  objects  are  not  actually  before 
the  eye,  but  are  called  up  Into  our  memories,  or  formed  into 
agreeable  visions  of  thmgs  tliat  are  eltlicr  absent  or  fictitious." 
Tills  de'dnition  seems  to  exclude  a  blind  man  from  any  share 
whatever  of  those  pleasures  ;  and  yet  who  would  deny  that 
the  elegant  mind  of  Bt.acklock  was  capable  of  receiving, 
and  even  of  impaitir.g  tliem,  in  no  small  degree.  Our  author, 
therefore,  includes  every  source,  by  which,  through  any  of 
our  senses  or  perceptions,  we  receive  notices  of  the  world 
around. us  ;  as  well  as  the  reflex  pleasures  derived  fi*om  the 
imitative  aits. 

With  what  uttracfive  charms  this  goodly  frame.  &c. 

After  this  clear  and  concise  definition,  and  a  lively  and 
appropriate  invocation  to  the  poweis  of  Fancy,  guided  by 
Truth  and  Liberty,  the  author  begins  by  uiifolding  the  Pla- 
tonic idea  that  the  universe,  with  all  its  forms  of  material 
beauty,  was  called  into  being  from  its  prototype,  existing 
from  iill  eternity  In  the  Divine  Mind.  The  <li<]erent  prcpeii- 
sities  that  human  beings  arc  born  with  to  various  pursuits, 
are  enumerated  in  some  very  beautiful  lines,  and  those  are 
declared  to  be  the  most  noble  which  lead  a  chosen  few  to 
the  love  and  contemplation  of  the  Supreme  Beauty,  by  the 
love  and  contemplation  of  his  works.  The  Poet  thus  imme- 
diately, and  at  the  very  outset,  dignifies  his  theme,  by  con- 
necting it  with  the  sublimest  feelings  the  human  mind  Is  ca- 
pable Of  entertaining,  feelings  without  which  the  various 
scenes  of  this  beautiful  universe  degenerate  into  gaudy  shows, 
fit  to  catch  the  eve  of  children,  but  uninteresting  to  the  heart 
and  afi'ectioiis  ;  .and  those  laws  and  properties  about  which 
Philosophy  busies  herself,  into  a  bewildering  mass  of  uncon- 
nected experiments  and  independent  facts.     The  lines  allbrd 


PLEASURES   OF    IMAGINATION.        xv 

more  than  one  example  of  climax,  graceful  repetition,  and 
richness  of  poetic  language.     The  subject  is  then  branched 
out  into  the  three  grand  divisions  marked  by  Addison,  the 
Sublime,  the  Wonderful,  and  the  Beautiful.     Each  is  exempli- 
fied witli  equal  judgment  and  taste,    but  the  sublime  is  per- 
haps expressed  with  most  energ}',  as  it  certainly  was  most 
congenial  to  the  mind  of  our  author.     The  passage  of  which 
the  tliought  Is  borrowed  from  Longinus,  Say  why  tuas  man 
,*o  eminently  raised,  is  almost  une(jualled  in  grandeur  of  thouglit 
and  loftiness  of  expression,  yet  it  has  not  the  appearance,  as 
some  other  parts  of  the  Poem  have,  of  being  laboured  into 
excellence,  but  rather  of  being  thrown  off' at  once  amidst  the 
swell  and  fervency  of  a  kindled  imagination.    The  final  cause 
of  each  of  these  propensities  is  happily  insinuated;  of  the 
sense  of  the  sublime,  to  lead  us  to  the  contemplation  of  the 
Supreme  Being;  of  that  of  novelty  to  awaken  us  to  constant 
activity  ;  of  beauty  to  mark  out  to  us  the  objects  most  per- 
fect in  their  kind.  Thus  does  he  make  Pliiioso'phy  and  Poetry 
to  go  hand  ^nd  l)and.     The   exemplification  of"  the  love   of 
.novelty  in  the  ai:dience  of  the  village  matron,  who  tells  of 
M;itcbing  rhymes  and  evil  spirits,   is  highly  wrought.     The  au- 
thor, however,  had  doubtless  in  iiis  mind  not  only  tiie  Essays 
of  Addison,   which   were  immediately  jinder  his  eye,  but 
that  passage. in  another  paper  where  he  represents  the  circle 
at  his  land-kdy's  closing  their  ranks,  and  crov^dirg  round  the 
fire  at  the  conclusion  of  every  story  of  ghosts:    Around  the 
btddain  all  arrect  they  iumi^;    Congealed  ivith  shivering  sighs, 
very  happily  e.-^presses  llie  effects   of   that  kind  of  terror, 
which  makes  a  man  shrink  into  himself,  and  feel  afraid,  as  it 
«er«,  to  draw  a   full  inpiration.     It  may  be   doubted,  how- 
ever, whfctiier  the  attraction  which  is  felt' towards  these  kind 
of  sensations  when  they  rise  to  terror,  can  be  fairly  referred 
to  the  l)ve  of  novelty.     It  seems  rather  to  depend  on  that 
charm,  afterwards  touched  upon,  which  is  attatched  to  evcrv 
thingthr.t  strongly  stirs  and  agitates  Uie  mind.     In   his  de'- 
scnption  of  Beauty,  w  hich  is  adorned  with  all  the  graces  of 
the  chaster  Venus,  the  author  takes   occasion  to  aim  a  pal- 
pable  stroke  at  the  "  Nigiu  Thoughts"  of  Dr.  Young,  which 
He:  here  characterized   by  "  the  ghostlv  gloom  of  graves 
■..iu\   hoary   vaults,   and    ch,i.stered   cells,'    hv    walking-   witli 
spectres  through  the  midnight  shade,  and  attuning  the  dread- 
lul  workings  (,f  his  he.irt  to  the  accursed  song  of  the  scream- 
ing ow  .     /^I'C  same  allusion  is  repeated  in  one  of  his  Odes. 

J»he  Hies  from  ruins  and  from  tombs." 

This  antipathy  is  not  surprising ;  for  never  were  two  Poets 
more  coiUrasted.  Our  author  had  more  of  taste  and  judtr- 
ment.  Young  more  of  o.igiual.ty.  Akins.de  maintains 
throughout  an  uniform  dignity,  Young  has  been  character- 
istically  described  in  a  late  Poem  as  one  in  whom 
Still  gleams  and  still  expires  the  cloudy  day 
.Of  genuine  Poetry. 


xvi  K  S  S  A  Y    O  N    T  Jl  fi 

The  genius  of  the  one  was  clouded  over  with  tht  deepest 
glooms  of  Calvinism,  to  which  system,  however,  he  owed 
some  of  his  most  striking  beauties,  The  religion  of  the 
•ther,  all  at  least  that  appears  of  it,  and  all  indeed  that  could 
with  propriety  appear  in  such  a  Poem,  is  the  purest  Theism  : 
liberal,  cheerful,  and  sublime  ;  or,  if  admitting  any  mixture, 
Le  seems  inclined  to  tincture  It  with  the  mysticism  of  Plato, 
and  the  gay  fables  of  ancient  mythology.  The  one  declaims 
against  infidels,  the  other  against  monks  ;  the  one  resembles 
the  Gothic,  the  other  the  Grecian  architecture  ;  the  one  has 
been  read  with  deep  interest  by  many  who,  when  they  have 
abandoned  the  tenets  of  orthodoxy  can  scarcely  bear  to  re- 
peruse  him ;  ihe  other  dealing  more  in  general  truths,  will 
always  be  read  with  pleusure,  though  he  will  never  make  so 
deep  an  impression. 

The  Poem  goes  on  to  trace  the  connection  of  Beauty 
with  Truth,  by  showing  that  all  the  Beauty  we  admire  in  vege- 
table or  animal  life  results  fi-om  the  fitness  of  the  object  to 
the  use  for  which  it  is  intended,  and  serves  as  a  kind  of  stamp, 
set  by.the  Creator  to  point  out  the  health,  soundness,  and 
perfection  of  the  form  in  which  it  resides.  This  leads  him 
on  to  ^eak  of  moral  Beauty,  and  tracing  the  regidar  grada- 
tions of  Beauty  through  colour,  shape,  symmetry,  and  grace, 
to  its  highest  character  in  the  expression  of  moral  feel- 
ings, he  breaks  out  inlo  an  animated  apostrophe. 

Mind,  mind  alone— the  living  fountain  iu  itself  contains 
Of  beauteous  and  sublime. 

The  Poem  continues  in  a  h»gh  strain  of  noble  enthusiasm 
to  the  end  of  the  book,  and  concludes  with  an  invocation  to 
tlie  genius  of  ancient  Greece,  with  whose  philosopliy  and 
high  sense  of  liberty  he  was  equally  enamoured.  It  is  easy 
for  the  reader  who  is  conversant  in  tlic  writings  of  Shaftes- 
bury and  Hutchinson  to  perceive  how  much  their  elegant 
and  fascinating  system  is  adapted  to  ennoble  our  author's 
subject,  and  how  much  The  Pleasures  of  Imagination  are  rais- 
ed In  value  and  importance  by  building  the  throne  of  Virtue 
so  near  the  bower  of  Beauty.  The  book  is  complete  in  it- 
self; and  if  we  may  be  allowed, to  hazard  a  conjecture,  con- 
tains nearly  the  whole  of  ,what  the  author  on  the  first  view 
might  think  necessary  to  his  subject. 

The  second  book  opens  with  a  complaint  founded,  perhaps, 
rather  in  a  partiality  for  the  ancients  than  attention  to  fact, 
of  the  disunion  in  modern  times  of  Plulosophy  and  Poetry.  To 
the  same  classic  prejudice  (to  wlilch  a  good  scholar  is  very 
prone)  may  be  attributed  the  mention  of  the  courtly  compli- 
ments  which  debased  the  verse  of  Tasso  :  and  the  supersti- 
ous  legends  which  employed  the  pencil  of  Raphael  In  con- 
tradistinction to  the  works  of  the  ancients,  as  if,  in  sober 
truth,  any  one  was  prepared  to  assert  that  there  was  less  flat- 
tery in  the  Augustine  age,  and  less  superstition  in  the  idle 
mythology  of  HoMrn  and  Ovid.     Such  prejudices  ouglit  to 


PLEASURES    OF    IMAGINATION.      xvii 

be  laid  aside  with  tlie  gradus  of  the  school-boy.    The  Poet 
proceeds  to  consider  the  accession  to  the  Pleasures  of  Ima- 
gination from  adventitious  circumstances,  of  which  he  gives 
various  instances  :  that  of  the  Newtonian  theory  of  the  rain- 
bow seems  too  abstruse  even  for  a  philosophical  Poem  ;  it 
may  be  doubted  whether,  if  understood,  it  is  of  a  nature  to 
mix  well  with  the  pleasure  of  colours  ;  it  certainly  does  not 
accord  well  with  that  of  verse.     The  influence  of  Passion  is 
next  considered,  and  the  mysterious  pleasure  which  is  'mixed 
with  the  energies  and  emotions  of  those  passions  that  are  in 
tlieir  own  nature  painful.     To  solve  this  problem,  which  has 
been  one  in  all  ages,   a  long  allegory  is  introduced,   which 
though  wrought  up  with  a  good  deal  of  the   decoration  of 
Poetry,  is  nearly  as  difficult  to  comprehend  as  the  problem 
itself.'    It  begins  with  presenting  a  scene  of  desolation,  vbere 
the  parched  adder  dies ;  this  vanishes,  and  another  is  presented. 
What  we  hoped  to  have  heard  from  the  Poet,  we  are  direct- 
ed to  learn  from  old  Harmodics.    Harmodius  is  only  intro- 
duced to  refer  us  to  the  Genius,   and  the  Genius  shifts  his 
scones  like  the  pictures  of  a  magic  lantern,  heft»re  he  explains 
tons  the  scope  and  purport  of  the  visions.     The  figures  of 
Pleasure  and  Virtue  are  in  a  good  measure  copied  from  the 
choice  of  Hercules,  only  that,  as  Euphrosyne  is  the  God- 
dess of  innocent  pleasure,  every  thing  voluptuous  is  left  out 
of  the  picture.     The  description  of  the  son  of  Nemesis  is 
wrought  up  with  much  strength  of  colouring.     The  story  is 
in  fact  the  introduction  of  evil,  accounted  for  by  the  necessity 
of  training  the  pupil  of  Providence  to  the  love  of  virtue,  the 
supreme  good,  by  withdrawing  from  him  for  a  while  the  al- 
lurements of  pleasure  ;  but  why  his  very  suffering  should  be 
attended  with  pleasure,  which  was  the  phenomenon  to  be  ac- 
counted for,  is  not  so  clearly  made  out.     We  are  told  indeed 
that  the  votith  is  willing  to  bear  the  frowns  of  the  son  of  Ne- 
mesis in  all  their  horrors,   provided  Euphuosvne  will   bless 
Jiim  witli  her  smiles,  that  is  to  say,  he  is  willing  to  be  miser- 
able provided  he  may  be  happy  at  the  same  time.     Upon  this 
EuPHROsvNK  appcnrs,  and  declares  that  she  will  always  be 
present  for  tlie  future,  whenever,   stipported  by  Virtue,   he 
s^istains  a  comb.it  with  Pain.     So   far  indeed  we  may  gather 
from  this  representation,  that  pleasure  is  always   annexed  to 
the  exercise  of  our  moral  feelings,  which  is  probably  the  true 
account  of  the  matter  ;  b\!t  this  truth  is  rather  darkened  than 
dluslratcd  by  the  fable,  wliich  does  not  satisfactorily  expluin 
hifij  the  connection  is  produred.     The  allegory   is  not  very 
consistent  in  another  place,  where  we  are  told  that  Virt<l|?t  ha<l 
left  the  youth,  while  at  the  same  time   x'.j^e/est  innocence  illu. 
mined  his  bttshful  eyes.    He  had  already  fallen,   and  ye.  he  had 
n  .t  loit  his  innocence  ;  the  storm  of  wrath  which  falls  upon 
him  is  therefore  unaccounted  for.     Upan  the  whole,  though 

•"  Whii:li  Virtuf  inixrj  "     Sf'P  p.  '.i,  1.  (>79  to  «'!,  an'l  p.  Ti-V,  1.  t'"V  »"  '''>• 


xviii  ESSAY    ON    THE 

this  allegory  is  in  many  parts  ing^enious,  and  is  laboured  into 
splendid  poetry,  we  fear  it  has  the  effect  upon  most  readers 
which  it  seems  it  had  upcn  the  author  himself,  who  tells  us 
that  Awhile  he  stood 

Perjjiex'd  and  giddy. 

It  may  be  doubted  whether  this  discussion  is  strictly  with- 
in the  bounds  of  the  subject,  the  Pleasures  of  Imagination  \ 
since  the  instances  given  are  not  conlined  to  scenic  represen- 
tations, but  I'efer  to  the  primaiy  feeUngs  of  the  passions. 
What  has  *  imagination  to  do  with 

The  bitter  shower 
Which  sorrow  sheds  upon  a  brother's  grave  ? 

The  book  concludes  with  an  animated  and  pathetic  exem- 
plification of  the  gratification  felt  in  the  indulgence  of  mourn- 
ful sympathy,  or  generous  indignation  ;  the  latter  pointed 
against  the  two  things  the  author  most  hated,  superstition 
and  tyranny. 

The  third  book  touches  upon  a  difficult  and  ungrateful 
subject  for  the  poetic  art,  the  Pleasures  of  Ridicule.  It  in- 
volves the  question,  much  agitated  at  that  time,  whether 
ridicule  be  the  test  of  truth.  Our  autlior  follows  the  system 
of  Shaftesbury,  which  drew  upon  him  an  attack  from  Bisliop 
Wahburton',  and  he  was  defended  by  his  friend  and  patron 
Jeremiah  Dysom.  To  say  truth,  it  is  easier  to  defend  the 
Philosopher  than  the  Poet.  There  is  mucli  acuteness  in  the 
theory,  and  much  art  exhibited  in  giving  a  poetical  dress  to 
the  various  illustrations  he  makes  use  of:  but  after  all,  the 
subject  is  so  barren  in  itself,  and  so  unsuitable  to  the  solemn 
manner  of  Akinside,  that  we  admire  without  pleasure,  and 
acquiesce  without  interest.  He  ))romises  indeed  to 
Unbend  his  serious  measure 

But  he  has  not  kept  his  promise  :  neither  indeed  could  lie, 
for  besides  that  no  one  was  ever  less  capable  than  our  author 
o^  unbending,  the  object  of  his  disquisitijn  is  not  to  make  us 
laugh,  but  to  tell  us  why  we  laugh  :  a  very  different  problem, 
and  very  remote  from  any  ideas  of  pleasantry.  Nor  could 
he,  without  violating  uniformity,  change  the  measure  of  his 
P>)em,  otherwise  this  p.art  of  his  subject  not  affording  any 
play  for  the  hig-Jier  beauties  and  bolder  sweep  of  blank  versq, 
would  have  been  better  treated  of  in  the  neat  and  terse  cou]i- 
let,  after  the  manner  of  Pope's  Ethical  Epistles,  or  Young's 
Satires.  He  begins,  agreeably  to  the  sysiem  he  had  embrac- 
ed, with  deducing  all  deviations  from  rectitude  or  propriety, 
from  false  opinions,  imbibed  in  early  youth,  which  attract  the 
imaginjiation  by  fallacious  sliows  of  good.  Of  these  false  opin- 
ions the  more  serious  lead  to  vice,  while  those  which  refer  to 
the  less  important  particulars  of  our  conduct  betray  to  ridi- 
cule, the  source  of  which  is  incongruity,  audits  final  cause 
the  assisting  the  tardy  deductions  of  reason  by  the  quick  im- 
pulse of  an  instinctive  sense- 

•  U  inny  either  iT-roise  or  le'sen  it  Edit. 


PLEASURES    OF    IMAGINATION.        xlx 

The  theory  is  beautiful  and  well  supported.  Illustrations 
of  every  diftereat  species  of  the  ridiculous  are  g-iven  in  the 
Poem,  the  notes  are  judicious,  and  tend  still  more  to  illuci- 
date  the  subject.  Still  it  must  be  confessed  the  theme  is 
not  a  poetical  one  ;  and  it  may  be  even  questioned  how  far  it 
is  connected  with  the  subject;  for  the  sense  of  ridicule  is  of 
a  very  peculiar  nature,  and  is  hardly  included,  in  common 
language,  among  the  Pleasures  of  the  Imagination.  If  how- 
ever  the  reader  is  inclined  to  be  dissatisfied  with  this  part  of 
his  entertainment,  let  him  recollect,  that  if  it  affords  him  less 
pleasure,  it  probably  cost  the  author  more  pains  than  any 
other  portion  of  his.Poem.  It  is  asserted  that  under  the  ap- 
pellation of  MoMioN,  the  writer  has  thrown  out  a  sarcasm, 
not  undeserved,  against  the  celebrated  author  of  the  Dunciad ; 
for  surely  no  man  of  a  just  moral  taste  can  reflect,  without 
regret,  that  a  capital  work  of  one  of  our  best  Poets,  composed 
in  the  height  of  iiis  reputation,  and  during  the  perfection  of 
all  his  powers,  should  have  no  other  end  than  to  gratify  the 
spleen  of  an  offended  author,  and  to  record  the  petty  war- 
fare of  rival  wits.  It  is  an  observation  of  the  excellent  Hart- 
LEY,  that  those  studies  wiiich  confine  the  mind  witl)in  tite 
exercise  of  its  own  powers,  as  criticism,  poetry,  and  most 
philological  pursuits,  are  apt  to  generate  a  supercilious  de- 
ponment  and  an  anxious  and  selfish  regard  to  reputation  : 
whereas  the  pursuit  of  truth,  carrying  tJie  mind  out  of  it.<^elf 
to  large  views  of  nature  and  providence,  fills  it  with  sublime 
and  generous  feelings.  The  remark  must  undoubtedly  be 
taken  with  great  latitude,  but  it  seems  to  be  not  entirely 
unfounded. 

Having  dismissed  the  account  of  Ridicule,  so  little  sus- 
rcptible  of  being  adorned  by  his  efTorfs,  t!ic  Poet  rises  into  a 
liigher  strain,  and  investigates  tliat  wort'erful  phenomenon 
from  whence  the  Pleasures  of  IniaRinalion  ciiieflv  seem  to 
arise,  the  mysterious  connection  of  moral  ideas  with  visible 
objects.  Why,  he  asks,  docs  the  deep  sliade  of  a  thick 
wood  strike  us  witli  religious  awe?  Why  does  the  liglit- 
someness  and  variety  of  a  more  airv  l.-ir.dscape  sugi^est  to  us 
the  idea  of  gaiety  and  social  mirth  '  Is  there  really  any  re- 
semi>lance,  or  is  it  owing  to  e.irlv  ai'd  frcqui-iit  nssociatioiis  ? 
He  decides  for  the  latter,  and  beautifully  ilhistrnU  s  ihat  great 
law  on  which  the  power  of  memorv- entirely  »lcpcnds.  Tiiis 
leads  him  to  consider  the  powers  of  imagi»ialinn  as  rt.<:i<lii'g 
in  the  human  mind,  wlien  after  being  stored  bv  m(  .in^  I'.f 
memorv-,  with  ideas  <.f  all  tliut  is  great  and  beMi'tiful  in  na- 
ture, the  cliild  of  fancy  coniljines  :.!itl  varies  li'cin  in  a  new 
creation  of  its  own,  from  whence  the  origin  n'!  Music,  Paint- 
ing, Poetry,  and  all  those  arts  which  give  rise  to  the  second- 
ary or  re  flcK  i)le.isurcs,  referred  to  in  the  latter  part  of  his 
definition.  This  is  .icrompanied  by  a  glowing  and  animated 
description  of  the  proress  of  composition,  written  e\ideiii!v 
with  tl.e  pleasure  a  \  er  o;i  f  f  gm'tis  must  h.v.c  felt,  whcp  ic- 


X*  ESSAYONTHE&c. 

fleeting  with  conscious  triumph  that  be  is  exercising  the 
powers  lie  so  well  describes.  He  had  probably  likewise  in 
his  eye  the  well  known  lines  of  Shakespeare, 

The  Poet's  eye  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling.     &,c. 

The  simile  of  tlie  Parhelion  is  new  and  beautiful.  Tlie 
harp  of  Memnon  struck  by  the  rays  of  the  sun  supplies  him 
with  another,  and  the  s\aipathetic  needles  of  Strada  with  a 
third,  which  are  the  only  ones  in  the  Poem. 

The  Cauiie  is  next  considered  of  the  pleasure  which  we  re- 
ceive from  all  that  strikes  us  with  the  sensation  of  Beauty  in 
the  material  world.  Concerning  this  there  cxi.st  two  opin- 
ions. One,  that  those  objects  we  call  beautiful  are  so  really, 
and  in  tiieir  own  nature,  and  must  appear  so  to  any  being  - 
possessed  of  faculties  capable  of  appreciating  tliem.  The 
other,  that  Beaijty  is  a  mere  arbitrary  thing,  a  sort  of  pleas- 
ing enchantment  spread  over  the  face  of  nature,  a  delusion, 
under  which  we  see  charms  that  do  not  at  all  result  from  the 
real  properties  of  things,  and  which  other  intelligent  beings  it 
is  probable  do  not  perceive.  This  latter  opinion  our  autlior 
has  embraced  as  the  most  philosophical.  It  is  not,  we  pi"e- 
sume,  the  most  pleasing,  nor  the  most  favourable  to  the  dig- 
nity and  importance  of  the  Pleasures  of  Imagination  ;  for 
their  boasted  connection  with  truth  vanishes,  except  indeed 
in  this  sense  that  Beauty  as  an  arbitrary  mark  is  used  with 
precision,  and  is  coustantly  found  to  denote  the  health  and 
sovmdness  of  the  object  in  whicli  it  appears  to  reside,  and 
consequently  is  made  subservient  to  utility  ;  but  the  beautiful 
cclimax  is  destroyed  by  which  the  inferior  kinds  are  connect- 
ed with  moral  Beauty  ;  for  how  can  what  is  real  be  connected 
with  wliat  is  imaginary  ?  unless  indeed,  what  would  be  a  very 
dangerous  doctrine,  the  sense  of  moral  Beauty  itself  were 
supposed  to  be  dependent  on  our  i)eculiar  formation,  and 
adapted  only  to  our  present  state  of  existence-  The  Poet  has 
here  closely  copied  from  Addison,  both  in  opening  the 
thought,  and  in  the  simile  with  wliicii  he  illustrates  it.  He 
loses  sight  however  of  this  in)poetical  philosophy  towards 
the  conclusion,  where  liaving  observed  that  taste  results  from 
the  natural  quickness  of  all  the  perceptions  he  has  enumerat- 
ed, strengthened  by  adequate  culture,  he  observes,  that  cul- 
ture will  not  however  destroy  the  peculiar  bias  whicli  is  im- 
pressed upon  different  minds  towards  the  great,  or  the  soft 
and  beautiful.  Tliis  he  exemplifies  in  Waller  and  Shake- 
sPEAHE.  He  then  winds  up  the  whole  by  that  noble  and  ani- 
mated eulogium  on  the  taste  for  tlie  beauties  of  nature, 

O  blest  of  lieaven,  whom  &.c. 
And  having  led  the  lover  of  the  fair  and  beauliful  through 
all  tlie  different  gi'adations  of  excellence,  he  leaves  the  mind 
where  alone  it  should  rest,  in  tlie  contemplation  of  the  Su- 
preme Excellence,  and  closes  with  the  boblime  idea,  that  in 
admiring  the  works  of  nature,  we  form  our  taste  upon  the 
conceptions  of  the  Deity  himself.  I 


PLEASURES 

OF 

IMAGINATION: 

A      POEM, 

IN    THREE    BOOKS, 
MDCCXLIV. 

Epict.  apud  Arrian.  II,  23. 

GocVs  bounties  are  reviled  by  the  impious. 

THE    D  E  S  I  G  N. 

X  HERE  are  certain  powers  in  human  nature  Mhich 
seem  to  hold  a  middle  place  between  the  organs  of  bod- 
ily sense  and  the  faculties  of  moral  perception  :  They 
hare  been  called  by  a  very  general  name.  The  Poit:crs 
of  Imagination.  Like  the  external  senses,  they  relate 
to  matter  and  motion  ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  give  the 
mind  ideas  analogous  to  those  of  moral  approbation  and 
dislike.  As  they  are  the  inlets  of  some  of  the  most  ex- 
quisite pleasures  with  which  we  are  acquainted,  it  has 
naturally  happened,  that  men  of  warm  and  sensible 
tempers  have  sought  means  to  recal  the  delightful  per- 
ceptions which  they  afford,  independent  of  the  objects 
which  originally  produced  them.  This  gave  rise  to  the 
imitative  or  designing  arts ;  some  of  which,  as  painting 

A 


2  T  II  E    D  E  S  I  G  N. 

and  sculpture,  directly  copy  the  external  appearances 
which  were  admh-ed  in  nature;  others,  as  music  and 
poetry,  bring  them  back  to  remembrance  by  signs  uni- 
versally established  and  understood. 

But  these  arts,  as  they  grew  more  correct  and  delib- 
erate, were  of  course  led  to  extend  their  imitation  be- 
yond the  peculiar  objects  of  the  imaginative  powers; 
especially  poetry,  which,  making  use  of  language  as 
the  instrument  by  which  it  imitates,  is  consequently 
become  an  unlimited  representative  of  every  species  and 
mode  of  being.  Yet,  as  their  intention  was  only  to  ex- 
press the  objects  of  imagination,  and  as  they  still 
abound  chiefly  in  ideas  of  that  class,  they  of  course  re- 
tain their  original  character;  and  all  thediflerent  plea- 
sures which  they  excite,  are  termed,  in  general.  Plea- 
sures of  Imas;ination. 

The  design  of  the  following  poem  is  to  give  a  view  of 
these  in  the  largest  acceptation  of  the  term;  so  that 
'•whatever  our  imagination  feels  from  the  agreeable  ap- 
pearances of  nature,  and  all  the  various  entertainment  ixe 
meet  vcith  either  in  poetri/,  painting,  music,  or  any  of 
the  elegant  arts,  7night  be  deducible  from  one  or  other  of 
those  principles  in  the  constitution  of  the  human  mind, 
ii'hich  are  Itere  established  and  explained. 

In  executing  this  general  plan,  it  was  necessary,  first 
of  all,  to  distinguish  the  Imagination  from  our  other 
faculties ;  and,  in  the  next  place,  to  characterise  those 
original  forms  or  properties  of  being,  about  which  it  is 
conversant,  and  which  are  by  nature  adapted  to  it,  as 
light  is  to  the  eyes,  or  truth  to  the  understanding.  These 
properties  Mr.  Addisonhad  reduced  to  the  three  general 
classes   of  Greatness,    Novelty,    and    Beauty;    and 


T  H  E    D  E  S  I  G  X.  -J 

hi  to  these  we  may  analyse  every  object,  however  com- 
plex, which,  properly  speaking,  is  delightful  to  the  im- 
agination. But  such  an  object  may  also  include  many  [ 
other  sources  of  pleas-ure  ;  and  its  beauty,  or  novelty, 
or  grandeur,  will  make  a  stronger  impression  by  rea- 
son of  this  concurrence.  Besides  which,  the  imitative 
arts,  especially  poetry,  owe  much  of  their  effect  to  a 
similar  exhibition  of  properties  quite  foreign  to  the  ima- 
gination, insomuch,  that  in  every  line  of  the  most  ap- 
plauded poems,  we  meet  with  either  ideas  drawn  from 
the  external  senses,  or  truths  discovered  to  the  under- 
standing, or  illustrations  of  contrivance  and  final  causes, 
or,  above  all  the  rest,  with  circumstances  proper  to 
awaken  and  cn^age^  the  pasiions.  It  was  thej-eforc  ne- 
cessary to  enumerate  and  exemplify  these  diflerent  spe- 
cies of  pleasure;  especially  that  from  the  passions, 
which,  as  it  is  supreme  in  the  noblest  works  of  human 
genius,  so  being  in  some  particulars  not  a  little  surpris- 
ing, gave  an  opportunity  to  enliven  the  didactic  turn  of 
the  poem,  by  introducing  an  allegory  to  account  for 
the  appearance. 

After  these  parts  of  the  subject  which  hold  chieily 
o{ ail/niration,  or  naturally  warm  and  interest  the  mind; 
H  pleasure  of  a  very  dillercnt  nature,  that  which  arises 
from  riiliculf,  came  next  to  be  considered.  As  this  is 
the  foundation  of  the  comic  manner  in  all  the  arts,  and 
has  been  but  very  imperfectly  treated  by  moral  writers, 
it  was  thought  proj.er  to  give  it  a  j)articular  illustration, 
and  to  distinguish  the  general  sources  from  which  the 
ridicule  of  characters  is  derived.  Here  too  a  change  of 
style  became  necessary;  such  a  one  as  might  yet  be 
consistent,  if  possible,  with  the  general  taste  of  comj)o- 


-I-  T  H  E    D  E  S  I  G  N. 

sition  in  the  serious  parts  of  the  subject :  nor  is  it  ati 
easy  tas-k  to  give  any  tolerable  force  to  images  of  this 
kind,  without  running  either  into  the  gigantic  expres- 
sions of  the  mock  heroic,  or  the  familiar  and  poetical 
raillery  of  professed  satire;  neither  of  which  would  have 
been  proper  here. 

The  materials  of  all  imitation  being  thus  laid  open> 
nothing  now  remained  but  to  illustrate  some  particular 
pleasures  which  arise  either  from  the  relations  of  differ- 
ent objects  one  to  another,  or  from  the  nature  of  imita- 
tion itself.  Of  the  first  kind  is  that  various  and  com- 
plicated resemblance  existing  between  several  parts  of 
the  material  and  immaterial  worlds,  which  is  the  foun- 
dation of  metaphor  and  \vit»  As  it  seems  in  a  great 
measure  to  dejx^nd  on  the  tarly  association  of  our  ideas,^ 
iin.l  as  this  habit  of  associating  is  the  source  of  many 
pleasures  and  pains  in  life,  and  on  that  account  bears 
a  great  share  in  the  influence  of  poetry  and  the  other 
ails,  it  is  therefore  mentioned  here,  and  its  eflects  de- 
scribed. Then  follows  a  general  account  of  the  produc- 
tion of  these  elegant  arts,  and  of  the  secondary  plea- 
sure, as  it  is  called,  arising  from  the  resemblance  of 
their  imitations  to  the  original  appearances  of  Nature: 
After  which,  the  work  concludes  with  some  reflections 
on  the  general  conduct  of  th<j  powers  of  imagination, 
and  on  their  natural  and  moral  usefulness  in  life. 

Concerning  the  manner  or  turn  of  composition  which 
prevails  in  this  piece,  little  can  be  said  with  propriety 
by  the  author.  He  had  two  models ;  that  ancient  and 
simple  one  of  the  i'lVbt  Grecian  poets,  as  it  is  refined  by 
Virgil  in  the  Ceorgics,  and  the  familiar  epistolary  way 
of  Horace.     This  latter  has  several  advantages.     It  ad- 


T  H  E    D  E  S  I  G  N.  5 

mits  of  a  greater  variety  of  style ;  it  more  readily  en- 
gages the  generality  of  readers,  as  partaking  more  of 
the  air  of  conversation ;  and,  especially  with  the  assist- 
ance of  rhyme,  leads  to  a  closer  and  more  concise  ex- 
pression. Add  to  this  the  example  of  the  most  perfect 
of  mcxlern  poets,  who  has  so  happily  applied  this  man- 
ner to  the  noblest  parts  of  philosophy,  that  the  public 
taste  is  in  a  great  measure  formed  to  it  alone.  Yet,  af- 
ter all,  the  subject  before  us,  tending  almost  constantly 
to  admiration  and  enthusiasm,  seemed  rather  to  de- 
mand a  more  open,  pathetic  and  figured  style.  This 
too  appeared  m.ore  natural,  as  the  author's  aim  was  not 
so  much  to  give  formal  precepts,  or  enter  into  the  way 
of  direct  argumentation,  as,  by  exhibiting  the  most  in- 
S'^'S^^S  pJ^'pccts  of  Nature,  to  enlarge  and  harmonize 
the  imagination,  and  by  that  means  insensibly  dispose 
the  minds  of  men  to  a  similar  taste  and  habit  of  think- 
ing in  religion,  morals,  and  civil  life.  'Tis  on  this  ac- 
count that  he  is  so  careful  to  point  out  the  benevolent  in- 
tention of  the  Althor  of  Xatcre  in  every  principle  of 
the  human  con.^titution  here  insisted  on ;  and  also  to 
unite  the  moral  excellencies  of  life  in  the  same  point  of 
view  with  the  mere  external  objects  of  good  taste;  thus 
recommending  them  in  common  to  our  natural  propen- 
sity fur  admiring  whut  is  beautiful  and  lovely.  1  he 
same  view>  have  a^so  led  him  to  introduce  tou.e  senti- 
ments which  may  perhaps  be  loc)ked  u]»on  as  not  cjuite 
direct  to  the  subject ;  but,  since  they  liear  an  olnious 
relation  to  it,  the  authority  of  Vir^zl,  the  laultliss  mo- 
del of  didactic  poetry,  will  be^t  siiiiport  him  in  tbi^  par- 
ticular. For  the  sentiments  themselves,  he  makes  no 
apology. 

B2 


A  R  G  U  M  E  N  T 


THE.  FIRST    BOOK. 


THE  subject  proposed.  Difficulty  of  treating^  it  poetically.  The 
ideas  of  the  divine  mind,  the  origin  of  every  quality  pleasing  to 
the  imagination  The  natural  variety  of  CMistitution  in  the  minds 
of  men,  with  its  final  cause.  The  idea  of  a  fine  imagination, 
and  the  state  of  the  mind  in  the  enjoyment  of  those  pleasures 
which  it  affords.  All  the  primary  pleasures  of  the  imagination 
result  fronithe  perception  of  greatness,  or  wonderfulness,  or  beau- 
ty in  objects.  The  pleasure  from  greatness,  with  its  final  cause. 
Pleasure  from  novelty  or  wonderfulness,  with  its  final  cause. 
Pleasure  from  beauty,  with  its  final  cause.  Tlie  connexion  of 
beauty  with  truth  and  good,  appliecl  to  the  conduct  of  life.  In- 
Titation  to  the  studj'  of  njoral  philosophy.  The  different  degrees 
of  beauty  irt  diflierent  sjjecies  of  objects :  colour  j  shape;  natural 
concretes^  vegetables;  animak;  the  mind.  The  sublime,  the 
fair,  the  wonderful  of  the  mind.  The  connexion  of  the  imagina- 
tion and  the  moral  faculty.     Conclusion. 


N.  B.  Thejigures  at  the  bottom  of  the  page,  in  leth  the  Poems, 
refer  to  the  iimilar  passages  in  each,  for  the  convenience  of  those  ttko 
mat/  -ivish  to  compare  them. 


THE 

PLEASURES 

OF 

IMAGINATION. 

BOOK     THE     FIRST. 

W^ITH  what  attractive  charms  this  goodly  frame 
Of  nature  touches  the  consenting  hearts 
Of  mortal  men  ;  and  what  the  pleasing  stores 
Which  beauteous  imitation  thence  derives. 
To  deck  the  poet's  or  the  painter's  toil ;  5 

My  verse  unfojds.     Attend,  ye  gentle  powers 
Of  musical  delight !  and  while  I  sing 
Your  gifts,  your  honours,  dance  around  my  strain. 
Thou,*  smiling  queen  of  every  tuneful  breast. 
Indulgent  Fancy  I  from  the  fruitful  banks  10 

Of  Avon,  whence  thy  rosy  fingers  cull 
Fresh  flow'rs  and  dews  to  sprinkle  on  the  turf 
Where  Shakespeare  lies,  be  present :  and  with  thee 
Let  Fiction  come,  upon  her  vagrant  wings 
Wafting  ten  thousand  colours  through  the  air  :        15 
Which,  by  the  glances  of  her  magic  eye. 
She  blends  and  shifts  at  will,  through  countless  forms, 
Her  wild  creation,     (ioddessf  of  the  lyre. 
Which  rules  the  accents  of  the  moving  sphere, 
*   fide  liuok  I,  line  27.  f  Look  1,  line  :>!'■ 


8  THE    PLEASURES    OF  . 

Wilt  *  thou,  eternal  Harmony  !  descend  20 

And  join  this  festive  train  ?  for  with  thee  comes 

The  guide,  the  guardian  of  their  lovely  sports. 

Majestic  Truth  ;  and  where  Truth  deigns  to  come, 

Her  sister  Liberty  will  not  be  far. 

Be  present  all  ye  Genii,  who  conduct  25 

The  wandering  footsteps  of  the  youthful  bard. 

New  to  your  springs  and  shades :  who  touch  his  ear 

With  finer  sounds  :  who  heighten  to  his  eye 

The  bloom  of  nature,  and  before  him  turn 

The  gayest,  happiest  attitude  of  things.  30 

Oft  have  the  laws  of  each  poetic  strain 
The  critic-verse  employ'd ;  yet  still  unsung 
Lay  this  prime  subject,  though  importing  most 
A  poet's  name  :  for  fruitless  is  the  attempt. 
By  dull  obedience  and  by  creeping  toil,  35 

Obscure  to  conquer  the  severe  ascent 
Of  high  Parnassus.     Nature's  kindling  breath 
Must  fire  the  chosen  genius;  nature's  hand 
Must  string  his  nerves,  and  imp  his  eagle-wings. 
Impatient  of  the  painful  steep,  to  soar  40 

High  as  the  summit ;  there  to  breathe  at  large 
Ethereal  air  :  with  bards  and  sages  old. 
Immortal  sons  of  praise.     These  flattering  scenes. 
To  this  neglected  labour  court  my  song; 
Yet  not  unconscious  what  a  doubtful  task  45 

To  paint  the  finest  features  of  the  mind. 
And  to  most  subtile  and  mysterious  things 
Give  '"olour,  strength,  and  motion.     But  the  love 
Of  nature  and  the  muses  bids  explore, 
Through  secret  paths  erewhile  untrod  by  man,  50 

*  Book  I,  line  37. 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK  I.  9 

The  fair  poetic  region,  to  detect 

Untasted  springs,  to  drink  inspiring  draughts. 

And  shade  my  temples  with  unfading  flowers 

CuU'd  from  the  laureate  vale's  profound  recess. 

Where  never  poet  gain'd  a  wreath  before.  55 

From  *  heaven  my  strains  begin ;  from  heaven  de-'- 
scends 
The  flame  of  genius  to  the  human  breast. 
And  love  and  beauty,  and  poetic  joy 
And  inspiration.     Ere  the  radiant  sun 
Sprang  from  the  east,  or  'mid  the  vault  of  night        60 
The  moon  suspended  her  serener  lamp  j 
Ere  mountains,  woods,  or  streams  adorn'd  the  globe. 
Or  wisdom  taught  the  sons  of  men  her  lore ; 
Tlien  liv'd  the  almighty  One  :  thcii,  deep-retir'd 
In  his  unfathom'd  essence,  view'd  the  forms,  65 

The  forms  eternal  of  created  things ; 
The  radiant  sun,  the  moon's  nocturnal  lamp. 
The  mountains,  woods  aad  streams,  the  rolling  globe. 
And  wisdom's  mien  celestial  :    From  the  first 
Of  days,  on  them  his  love  divine  he  fix'd,  70 

His  admiration  :  till  in  time  compleat. 
What  he  admir'd  and  lov'd,  his  vital  smile 
Unfolded  into  being.     Hence  the  breath 
Of  life  informing  each  organic  frame; 
Ilcnce  the  green  earth,  and  wild  resounding  wares;  75 
Hence  light  and  shade  alternate;  warmth  and  cold  ; 
And  clear  aytuuKial  j^kies  and  vernal  showers, 
And  all  the  fair  variety  of  things. 

But  t  not  alike  to  every  mortal  eye 
Is  this  great  scene  unveil'd.     For  since  the  claims      3i> 
*  L'ooi  I,  line  9S.  f  L'vok  I,   !ine  Ul- 


10  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

(  Of  social  life,  to  clifFerent  labours  urge 
The  active  powers  of  mau ;  with  wise  intent 
The  hand  of  nature  on  peculiar  minds 
Imprints  a  different  biass^  and  to  each 
Decrees  its  province  in  the  common  toil.  85 

To  some  she  taught  |^e  fabric  of  the  sphere^ 
The  changeful  moon,  the  circuit  of  the  stars. 
The  golden  zones  of  heaven  :  to  some  she  gave 
To  weigh  the  moment  of  eternal  things, 
Of  time,  and  space,  and  fate's  unbroken  chain,  60 

And  will's  quick  impulse:  others  by  the  hand 
She  led  o'er  vales  and  mountains,  to  explore 
What  healing  virtue  swells  the  tender  veins- 
Of  herbs  and  flowers;  or  what  the  beams  of  morn 
Draw  forth,  distilling  from  the  clifled  rind  95 

I  In  balmy  tears.     But  some,  to  higher  hopes 
Were  destin'd  ;  soaie  within  a  finer  mould 
She  wrought,  and  temper'd  with  a  purer  flame  : 
To  these  the  Sire  Om.nu'Otent  unfolds 
The  world's  harmonious  volume  ;  there  to  read        100 
The  transcript  of  himself.     On  every  part 
They  trace  the  bright  impressions  of  his  hand  : 
In  earth  or  air,  the  meadow's  purple  stores, 
'i'he  moon's  mild  radiance,  or  the  virgin's  form 
Blooming  with  rosy  smiles;  they  see  portray 'd         105 
That  uncreated  beauty,  which  delights 
The  mind  supreme ;  they  also  feel  her  charms, 
1  namour'd ;  they  partake  the  eternal  joy. 

For  *  as  old  Memnon's  image,  long  renown'd 
By  fabling  Nilus,  to  the  quivering  touch  1 10 

Of  Titan's  ray,  with  each  repulsive  string 
»  Book  I,  ItnclBQ. 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK    I.  11 

Consenting,  sounded  through  the  warbling  air 

Unbidden  strains  ;  even  so  did  nature's  hand. 

To  certain  species  of  external  things 

Attune  the  liner  organs  of  the  mind  :  315 

So  the  glad  impulse  of  congenial  powers. 

Or  of  sweet  sound,  or  fair  proportion'd  form. 

The  grace  of  motion,  or  the  bloom  of  light. 

Thrills  through  imagination's  tender  frame. 

From  nerve  to  nerve  :  all  naked  and  alive  120 

They  catch  the  spreading  rays :  till  now  the  soul 

At  length  discloses  every  tuneful  spring. 

To  that  harmonious  movement  from  without 

Responsive.     Then  the  inexpressive  strain 

Diffuses  its  inchantment :  Fancy  *  dreams  1 25 

Of  sacred  fountains  and  Elysian  groves. 

And  vales  of  bliss :  the  intellectual  power 

Bends  from  his  awftil  throne  a  wondering  ear. 

And  smiles  :  the  passions  gently  sooth 'd  away. 

Sink  to  divine  repose,  and  love  and  joy  130 

Alone  are  waking ;  love  and  joy,  serene 

As  airs  that  fan  the  summer.     O  !   attend. 

Whoe'er  thou  art,  whom  these  delights  can  touch. 

Whose  candid  bosom  the  refining  love 

Of  nature  warms,  O  !  listen  to  my  song ;  1 3  j 

And  I  will  gaide  thee  to  her  lavourite  walks. 

And  teach  thy  solitude  her  voice  to  hear. 

And  point  her  loveliest  features  to  thy  view. 

Know  t  then,  whate'er  of  nature's  pregnant  store?, 
Whate'er  of  mimic  art's  reflected  forms  1  iO 

With  love  and  admiration  thus  inllame 
Tlie  powers  of  fancy,  her  delighted  sons 

•  Book  I,  line  162.  f  Booli  1,  line  180. 


12  THE   PLEASURES   Ot? 

To  three  illustrious  orders  have  referr'd  ; 

Three  sister-graces,  whom  the  painter's  hand. 

The  poet's  tongue  confesses  ;  the  Sublime,  145 

The  WoNDEBFUt,  the  Fair.     I  see  them  da^vn  ! 

I  see  the  radiant  visions,  where  they  rise. 

More  lovely  than  when  Lucifer  dis])lays 

His  beaming  forehead  through  the  gates  of  mom. 

To  lead  the  train  of  Phoebus  and  the  spring.  150 

Say,  *  why  was  man  so  eminently  rais'd 
Amid  the  vast  creation  ;  why  ordain'd 
Through  life  and  death  to  dart  his  piercing  eye, 
"With  thoughts  beyond  the  limit  of  his  frame; 
But  that  the  Omnipotent  might  send  him  forth         155 
In  sight  of  mortal  and  immortal  powers, 
As  on  a  boundless  theatre,  to  run 
The  great  career  of  justice ;  to  exalt 
His  generous  aim  to  all  diviner  deeds ; 
To  chase  each  partial  purpose  from  his  breast;         160 

*  BooJc  I,  line  194. 

Sat/,  Kkij  tvas  man,  &)C.  "]  In  apologizing  for  the  frequent  negli- 
gences of  the  sublimest  authors  of  Greece,  Those  godlike  geniuses, 
s:iys  Longinus,  'xere  tcell  assured,  ihat  Nature  had  not  inieyided  man 
for  a  loic-spiritcd  or  ignoble  being :  but  bringing  us  into  life  and  the 
midst  of  this  tvide  universe,  as  before  a  multitude  assonUcd  at  same  he' 
roic  solemnity,  that  we  might  be  spectators  of  all  her  magnificence,  and 
candidates  high  in  emulation  for  the  prize  of  glory  ;  she  has  therefore 
implanted  in  our  souls  an  inextinguishable  love  of  every  thing  great  and 
exalted,  of  every  thing  which  appears  divine  beyond  our  comprehension, 
frhence  it  annes  to  pass,  thai  even  the  vchole  nvrld  is  not  an  object 
anfjicicnt  for  the  depth  and  rapidity  of  human  imagination,  which  often 
sallies  forth  beyond  the  limits  of  all  that  surroujtds  us.  Let  any  man. 
cait  his  eye  through  the  whole  circle  of  our  existence,  and  consider  hozu 
especially  it  abounds  in  excellent  and  grand  objects,  he  sill  soon  ac' 
knovsltdge  for  zvhat  enjoyments  and  pursuits  ice  iLore  destined.  Thus 
ly  the  very  propensity  of  nature  zve  are  led  to  admire,  not  little  springs 
or  shalloti-  rivulets,  hoivever  clear  and  delicious,  but  the  Nile,  the  Rhine, 
the  Danube,  and,  much  more  than  all,  the  Ocean,  &]"c.  Dionj'i, 
l/)ng'm.  dc  Siibliin.  §  xxiv. 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK    I.  IS 

And  through  the  mist  of  passion  and  of  sanse. 
And  through  the  tossii^  tide  of  chance  and  pain. 
To  hold  his  course  unfaultering,  while  the  voice 
Of  Truth  and  Virtue,  up  the  steep  ascent 
Of  Nature,  calls  him  to  his  high  reward,  165 

The  applauding  smile  of  heaven?  *  Else  wherefore  burns 
In  mortal  bosoms  this  unquenched  hope. 
That  breathes  from  day  to  day  sublimer  things. 
And  mocks  possession  ?  wherefore  darts  the  mind. 
With  such  resistless  ardour  to  embrace  17© 

Majestic  forms ;  impatient  to  be  free. 
Spurning  the  gross  control  of  wilful  might; 
Proud  t  of  the  strong  contention  of  her  toils ; 
Proud  to  be  daring  ?  Who  but  rather  turns 
To  heaven's  broad  fire  his  unconstrained  view,  175 

Than  to  the  glimmering  of  a  waxen  flame  ? 
Who  that,  from  Alpine  heights,  his  labouring  eye 
Shoots  round  the  wide  horizon,  to  survey 
Nilus  or  Ganges  rolling  his  bright  wave 
Through  mountains,  plains,  through  empires  black  with 
shade  jgO 

And  continents  of  sand  ;  will  turn  his  gaze 
To  mark  the  windings  of  a  scanty  rill 
That  murmurs  at  his  feet  ?  The  high-born  soul 
Disdains  to  rest  her  heaven-aspiring  wing 
Beneath  its  native  quarry.     Tired  of  earth  185 

And  this  diurnal  scene,  she  springs  aloft 
Through  fields  of  air  ;  pursues  the  flying  storm  ; 
Rides  on  the  vollied  lightning  through  the  heavens  j 
Or,  yoked  with  whirlwinds  and  the  northern  blast. 
Sweeps  the  long  tract  of  day.  |Then  high  she  soars  190 

•  Book  I,  line  210.     t  Hook  I,    l„ic  221.    t  Book  I,  /;«•  24.^. 

B 


U  THE   PLEASURES  OF 

The  blue  profound,  and  hovering  round  the  sun^ 

Beholds  him  pouring  the  redundant  stream 

Of  light;  beholds  his  unrelenting  sway 

"Send  the  reluctant  planets,  to  absolve 

The  fated  rounds  of  time.     Thence  far  effused  19'» 

She  darts  her  swiftness  up  the  long  career 

Of  devious  comets ;  through  its  burning  signs. 

Exulting  measures  the  perennial  wheel 

Of  Nature,  and  looks  back  on  all  the  stars. 

Whose  blended  light,  as  with  a  milky  zone,  200 

Invests  the  orient.     Now  amazed  she  views 

The  empyreal  waste,*  where  happy  spirits  hold. 

Beyond  this  concave  heaven,  their  calm  abode ; 

And  fields  of  radiance,  t  whose  unfading  light 

Has  traveU'd  the  profound  six  thousand  years,  20v> 

Nor^et  arrives  in  sight  of  mortal  things. 

Even  on  the  barriers  of  the  world,  untired. 

She  meditates  the  eternal  depth  below ; 

Till  half  recoiling,  down  the  headleng  steep 

She  plunges;  soon  o'erwhelni'd  and  swallowM  up    210 

In  that  immense  of  being.  |  There  her  hopes 

Rest  at  the  fated  goal.     Eor  from  the  birth 

*  V.  202.  The  empyreal  waslt.  ]  Nc  se  pcut-il puini  gi/'il  y  a  un  grand 
espacc  au  <lela  do  la  )ei2,ion  des  elvUca'^  Sue  re  soi/  k  cicl  empyr^e,  ou 
rwn,  toujourf  cet  espace  iiiimense  qui  environne  toute  cetfe  reffon,  pourra 
etre  rempli  de  bunheur  iS"  dc  glolre.  II  pourra  vtre  coii<;ii  comme  I'ocean, 
ou  se  rendent  Ics  fcuvcs  de  tuiiles  les  creatures  hicnbeureuies,  guaiid 
elles  serunt  venues  ci  leur  perfection  dans  Ic  systemc  des  etoiles.  Leib- 
nitz dans  la  Theodicee,  part.  i.  §  19 

•j-  V.  204.  H  hone  unfading  light,  &c.  ]  It  was  a  notion  of  (he 
groat  Mr.  Iluygens,  that  there  may  be  fixed  star.s  at  such  a  distance 
from  our  solar  system,  as  that  their  light  i-hould  not  have  1  iid  time 
to  reach  us,  even  frf>m  the  creation  of  tlie  world  to  this  day.  Mr. 
HerschcU  su{)|iose.-;  that  the  light  of  some  star^,  discoverable  by  his 
tclcscopo.s  has  probably  taken  son»c  millions  of  yeai-s  to  reach  us  !! 
See  book  II,  line  234  to  242.  Ed. 

;  Book  I,  line  269. 


IMAGINATION.    BOOKL  15 

Of  mortal  man,  the  Soy  ran  Maker  said. 

That  not  in  humble  nor  in  brief  delight, 

Not  in  the  fading  echoes  of  Renown,  215 

Power's  purple  robes,  nor  Pleasure's  flowery  lap. 

The  soul  should  find  enjoyment :  but  from  these 

Turning  disdainful  to  an  equal  good. 

Through  all  the  ascent  of  things  enlarge  her  view. 

Till  every  bound  at  length  should  disappear,  220 

And  infinite  perfection  close  the  scene. 

Call  now  to  mind  what  high  capacious  powers 
Lie  folded  up  in  man ;  how  far  beyond 
The  praise  of  mortals,  may  the  eternal  growth 
Of  nature,  to  perfection  half  divine,  225 

Expand  the  blooming  soul  ?    What  pity  then 
Should  Sloth's  unkindly  fogs  depress  to  earth 
Her  tender  blossom ;  clioak  the  streams  of  life. 
And  blast  her  spring  !  Far  otherwise  design'd 
Almighty  Wisdom  ;  Nature's  happy  cares  230 

The  obedient  heart  far  otherwise  incline. 
Witness  the  sprightly  joy,  when  aught  unknown 
Strikes  the  quick  sense,  and  wakes  each  active  power 
Vo  brisker  measures :  *  witness  the  neclect 


♦  V.  234,     the  ne/ikct 

Of  all  famiUar  prospects,  &c.  3  It  is  here  said,  that  in  consequence 
of  the  love  of  novelty,  objects  which  at  first  were  highly  delightful 
t')  the  mind,  lose  that  effect  by  repeated  attention  to  them-  But 
the  instance  of  habit  is  opi)ose<i  to  this  observation  j  for  there,  ob- 
jects at  fir*t  distasteful  are  in  time  rendered  entirely  agreeable  by 
rcpeateil  attention. 

The  didiciilty  in  this  case  will  l>e  removed,  if  we  consider,  that, 
when  objects  at  first  agreeable,  lose  that  influence  by  frequently  re- 
curring, the  mind  is  wholy  passive,  and  the  preception  involuntary; 
but  habit,  on  the  other  hand,  e;enerally  supposes  choice  tm<i  activity 
accompaaying  it :  so  that  the  pleasure  arises  here  not  from  the  ob- 
ject, but  from  the  mm<i's  conscious  determination  of  itsowD  activity  j 


i6  THE  PLEASURES  OF 

Of  all  familiar  prospects,  tliough  beheld  235 

With  transport  once ;  the  fond  attentive  gaze 

Of  young  astonishment ;  the  sober  zeal 

Of  Age,  commenting  on  prodigious  things. 

For  such  the  bounteous  Providence  of  heaven. 

In  every  breast  implanting,  this  desire  24-0 

Of  *  objects  new  and  strange,  to  urge  us  on> 

With  unrentiitted  labour  to  pursue 

Those  sacred  stores,  that  wait  the  ripening  soal. 


and  consequently  increases  in  proiwrtion  to  the  frequency  of  Uiat 
determination. 

It  will  still  be  urged  perhaps,  that  a  familiarity  with  disasrreeablo 
objects  renders  them  at  length  acceptable,  even  when  there  is  no 
room  for  the  mind  to  resolve  or  act  at  all.  In  this  case,  the  appear- 
ance must  be  accounted  for,  one  of  these  ways. 

'JTie  pleasure  from  habit  may  be  merely  negative.  The  object  at 
frst  gave  uneasiness  :  this  «neasine»s  gradually  wears  oflra<!  the  ob- 
ject grows  familiar:  and  the  mind,  finding  it  at  last  entirely  remov-. 
Vd,  reckons  its  situation  really  pleasurable,  compared  with  what  it 
had  experienced  before. 

The  dislike  conceived  of  the  object  at  first,,  might  Iw  owing  to  pre- 
judice or  want  of  attention.  Consequently  the  mind  being  nt^ossi- 
tated  to  review  it  often,  may  at  length  perceive  its  own  mistake,  and 
be  reconciled  to  what  it  had  looked  on  with  aversion.  In  whirli  onsc, 
a  sort  of  instinctive  justice  naturally  leads  it  to  make  amends  fvir 
the  injurj',  by  running  towjjrd  the  otlier  extnnne  of  fondness  and  at- 
tachment. 

Or  lastly,  though  the  object  Itsolf  should  always  continue  dis- 
agrt^eoble,  yet  circumstances  of  pleasure  or  pood  fortune  may  occur 
along  with  it-  Thus  an  ass'X-iation  may  arise  in  ttie  min'l,  and  the 
ol)ject  never  be  remembered  without  those  phasing  cirfnnistances 
attending  it;  by  which  mf^ans  the  disagroeatilo  impression  «lui;l-. it 
St  first  occasioned  will  in  time  be  quite  oblitoMted. 


•     V.  240. this  desire 

Ofobjectsvew  a.vrf strange ]  The>*e  two  ideas  are  often  con- 
founded-; though  it  is  evident  the  mere  naveUi/  of  an  object  makes 
it  asreeable,  even  where  the  mind  is  not  atVected  with  the  least  de- 
gree ofuvnaW:  whereas  lumder  indeed  always  implies  tioiflt;/,  being 
never  excited  bv  common  or  well-known  appeirauces.  But  the 
pleas'ire  in  b<ith "cases  i.<  esi)licable  from  the  same  final  cause,  th« 
acquisition  of  knowledge  and  enlargement  of  our  views  of  nature  :  on 
this  account,  it  is  natural  to  treat  of  them  together. 


IMAGINATION,    BOOK   I.  17 

In  Truth's  exhaustless  bosom.    What  need  words 

To  paint  its  power  ?  For  this  the  daring  youth  24-5 

Breaks  from  his  weeping  mother's  anxious  arms. 

In  forcijrn  chmes  to  rove  :  the  pensive  sage, 

Heedless  of  sleep,  or  midnight's  harmful  damp, 

Ilaugs  o'er  the  sickly  taper ;  and  untired 

The  virgin  follows,  with  inchanted  step,  250 

The  mazes  of  some  wild  and  wonderous  tale. 

From  morn  to  eve  ;  unmindful  of  her  form. 

Unmindful  of  the  happy  dress  that  stole 

The  wishes  of  the  youth,  when  e*^ry  maid 

With  envy  pined.     Hence,  finally,  by  night  255 

The  villagc-jnatron,  round  the  blazing  hearth. 

Suspends  the  infant-audience  with  her  tales. 

Breathing  astonishment !  of  witching  rhimes. 

And  evil  spirits  ;  of  the  death-bed  call 

Of  him  who  robb'd  the  widow,  and  devour'd  260 

The  orphan's  portion ;  of  unquiet  souls 

Risen  from  the  grave,  to  ease  the  heavy  guilt 

Of  deeds  in  life  conceal'd  ;  of  shapes  that  walk 

At  dead  of  night,  and  clank  their  chains,  and  wave 

The  torch  of  hell  around  the  murderer's  bed.  2C5 

At  every  solemn  pause  the  crowd  recoil. 

Gazing  each  other  sjiecchless,  and  congcal'd 

With  shivering  sighs  :  till  eager  for  the  event. 

Around  the  beldam  all  arrect  they  hang, 

Kach  trembling  heart  with  grateful  terrors  cjuell'd,  270 

But  *  lo  !  disclos'd  in  all  her  smiling  pomp. 
Where  Bp.auty  onward  moving,  claims  the  verse 
Her  charms  inspire  :  the  freely -flowing  verse 
In  thy  immortal  praise,  O  form  divine  ! 
*  Book  I,  h„c  280. 
1)   ■„' 


18  THE  PLEASURES   OF 

Smooths  her  mellifluent  stream.  Thee,  Beai;ty,  thee  275 
The  regal  dome,  and  thy  enlivening  ray 
The  mossy  roofs  adore  :  thou,  better  Sun  ! 
For  ever  beamest  on  the  enchanted  heart 
Love,  and  harmonious  wonder,  and  delight 
Poetic.     Brightest  progeny  of  heaven !  280 

How  shall  I  trace  thy  features  ?  where  select 
The  roseate  hues  to  emulate  thy  bloom  ? 
Haste  then  my  song,  through  Nature's  wide  expanse. 
Haste  then,  and  gather  all  her  comeliest  weaith, 
Whate'er  bright  spoils  the  florid  earth  contains,       285 
Whatever  the  waters,  or  the  liquid  air. 
To  deck  thy  lovely  labour.     *  Wilt  thou  fly 
With  laughing  Autumn  to  the  Atlantic  isles. 
And  range  with  him  the  Hesperian  field  ;  and  see 
Where'er  his  fingers  touch  the  fruitful  grove,  290 

The  branches  shoot  with  gold ;  where'er  his  step 
Marks  the  glad  soil,  the  tender  clusters  grow 
With  purple  ripeness,  and  invest  each  hill 
As  with  the  blushes  of  an  evening  sky  ? 
Or  wilt  thou  rather  stoop  thy  vagrant  plume,  295 

Where  gliding  through  his  daughter's  honour'd  shades. 
The  smooth  Peneus  from  his  glassy  flood 
Pteflects  purpureal  Tempe's  pleasant  scene  ? 
Fair  Tempe  !  haunt  belov'd  of  Sylvan  powers. 
Of  Nymphs  and  Fauns  ;  where  in  the  Golden  Age  300 
They  play'd  in  secret  on  the  shady  brink 
With  ancient  Pan :  while  round  their  choral  steps 
Young  Hours  and  genial  gales  with  constant  hand 
Shower'd  blossoms,  odours,  shovver'd  ambrosial  dews. 
And  Spring's  Elysian  bloom.     Her  flowery  store      305 
•  Bool:  I,  Hue  303. 


IMAGINATION,    BOOK   I.  19 

To  thee  nor  Tempe  shall  refuse ;  nor  watch 
Of  winged  Hydra,  guard  Hesperian  fruits 
From  thy  free  spoil.     O  bear  then,  unreprov'd. 
Thy  smiling  treasures  to  the  green  recess 
Where  young  Dione  stays.     With  sweetest  airs        31* 
Entice  her  forth  to  lend  her  angel-form 
For  Beauty's  honoured  image.*     Hither  turn 
Tliy  graceful  footsteps ;  hither  gentle  maid  ! 
Incline  thy  polish'd  forehead  :  let  thy  eyes 
Effuse  the  mildness  of  their  azure  dawn  ;  315 

And  may  the  fanning  breezes  waft  aside 
Thy  radiant  locks  :  disclosing,  as  it  bends 
With  airy  softness  from  the  marble  neck. 
The  cheek  fair-blooming  and  the  rosy  lip. 
Where  winning  smiles  and  pleasures  sweet  as  love,  320 
With  sanctity  and  wisdom,  tempering  blend 
Their  soft  allurement.     Then  the  pleasing  force 
Of  Nature,  and  her  kind  parental  care 
Worthier  I'd  sing  :  then  all  the  enamour'd  youth. 
With  each  admiring  virgin,  to  my  lyre  325 

Should  throng  attentive,  while  I  point  on  high. 
Where  Beauty's  living  image,  like  the  morn 
That  wakes  in  Zephyr's  arms  the  blushing  May, 
Moves  onward ;  or  as  Venus,  when  she  stood 
Effulgent  on  the  pearly  car,  and  smiled,  330 

Fresh  from  the  deep,  and  conscious  of  her  form, 
To  see  the  Tritons  tune  their  vocal  shells. 
And  each  ccurulean  sister  of  the  flood 
With  loud  acclaim  attend  her  o'er  the  waves. 
To  seek  the  Idalian  bow'r.     Ye  smiling  band  33J 

Of  youths  and  virgins,  who  through  all  the  maze 
*Boiil,line  341. 


20  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

Of  young  desire,  with  rival-steps  pursue 

This  charm  of  Beauty;  if  the  pleasing  toil 

Can  yield  a  moment's  respite,  hither  turn 

Your  favourable  ear^  and  trust  my  words;  '    340 

I  *  do  not  mean  to  wake  the  gloomy  form 

Of  Superstition  dress'd  in  Wisdom's  garb. 

To  damp  your  tender  hopes ;  I  do  not  mean 

To  bid  the  jealous  Thunderer  fire  the  heavens. 

Or  shapes  infernal  rend  the  groaning  earth  34-5 

To  fright  you  from  your  joys ;  my  cheerful  song 

With  better  omens  calls  you  to  the  field, 

Pleas'd  with  your  generous  ardour  in  the  chace. 

And  warm  like  you.     Then  tell  me,  for  ye  know. 

Does  Beauty  ever  deign  to  dwell  where  Health       350 

And  active  Use  are  strangers  ?    Is  her  charm 

Confess'd  in  aught,  whose  most  peculiar  ends 

Are  lame  and  fruitless  ?     Or  did  Nature  mean 

This  pleasing  call  the  herald  of  a  lie; 

To  hide  the  shame  of  discord  and  disease,  35^5 

And  catch  with  fair  hypocrisy  the  heart 

Off  idle  faith  ?     O  no  !  with  better  cares 

The  indulgent  mother,  conscious  how  infirm 

Her  offspring  tread  the  paths  of  good  and  ill. 

By  this  illustrious  image,  in  each  kind  360 

Still  most  illustrious  where  the  object  holds 

Its  native  powers  most  perfect ;  she  by  this 

Illumes  the  headstrong  impulse  of  Desire, 

And  sanctifies  his  choice.     The  generous  glebe 

Whose  bosom  smiles  with  verdure,  the  clear  tract    'S65 

Of  streams  delicious  to  the  thirsty  soul. 

The  bloom  of  nectar'd  fruitage  ripe  to  sense, 

»  Pooi  I,  line  394.  +  Bock  I,  line  410. 


IMAGINATION,    BOOK  L  5fl 

And  every  charm  of  animated  things. 
Are  only  pledges  of  a  state  sincere. 
The  integrity  and  order  of  their  frame,  370 

When  all  is  well  within,  and  every  end 
Accomplish'd.  f     Thus  was  Beauty  sent  from  heaven, 
Tlie  lovely  ministress  of  Truth  and  Good 
In  this  dark  world :  for  Truth  and  Good  are  one,  X   | 
f  Bovk  I,  line  432. 

%  V.  374.  Truth  and  good  are  one, 
And  beauty  divells  in  them,  ATc]  J)o  you  imagine,  says 
Socrates  to  Aristippus,  that  altat  is  good  is  not  beautiful  ?  Have  you 
not  observed  that  these  appearances  always  coincide  ?  Virtue,  for  in- 
stance,  in  the  same  respect  as  to  lehich  rre  call  it  good,  is  ever  mknov:- 
ledged  to  be  beautiful  also.  In  the  characters  of  men  tee  ahca^is  * 
join  the  two  denominations  together.  The  beauty  of  human  bodies 
corresponds,  in  Hie  manner,  with  that  economy  of  parts  tchich  cnnsti' 
t'ltes  them  good;  end  in  every  circumstance  of  life,  the  same  object  is 
constantly  accounted  both  bcauliful  and  good,  inasmuch  as  it  (innvers, 
the  purposes  for  which  it  ues  designed.  Xenophoiit.  Meinorab.  Suciat. 
J.  iii.  0.  8. 

7'his  excellent  obsenation  lias  been  illustrated  ant!  rxtrndod  by 
the  noble  restorer  of  ancient  philosopliy  ;  see  the  Ci.aracterislichs, 
vol.  ii.  p.  339  and  422.  and  vol.  iii.  p.  181.  Aid  another  inginious 
author  has  particularly  shewn,  that  it  hulds  in  the  (,'eiienil  laws  of 
nature,  in  the  v.'crks  of  art,  and  the  conduct  of  the  science  s.  /«- 
^uiry  info  the  original  of  our  ideas  of  beauty  and  iiit'ie.  Treat,  i.  ^  S. 
As  t'l  the  connection  l)et'neen  beauty  and  truth,  there  arc  tv.o  opin- 
ions concerning  it.  .S-Jine  philosophtrs  assort  an  indtpendent  and 
invariable  law  in  natui-e,  in  conscfjnciice  of  which  <dl  rational  beings 
must  alike  perceive  beauty  in  some  certain  proportions,  and  dcforjnity 
in  the  contrary.  And  this  necessity  beinp  fup|K)sed  the  same  with 
that  which  commaHcls  the  a'^sent  or  di-:s(;nt  of  the  understandintr, 
it  follows  of  course  that  /,esu/// is  founded  on  the  universal  and  un- 
changeable law  of  truth. 

But  others  there  are,  who  believe  beauty  to  be  merely  a  relative 
and  arbitrary  thing;  that  indeed  it  was  a  benevolent  provision  in  na- 
ture to  annex  so  flrlishlfid  a  sensatim  to  those  ol)iects  which  arf» 
best  and  7nost  perfect  m  themselves,  that  so  we  mii^ht  be  ensrajred  to 
the  choice  of  them  at  <  iice  and  without  staying  to  infer  their  vse- 
Julness  from  their  stnielure  and  efl'ects;  but  that  it  i?  not  impossible, 
)n  a  physical  sense,  that  two  beings,  of  equal  capacities  for  truth, 

•  This  the  Athenians  did  in  a  yemVur  manner,  l>y  tl,c  word  )t«X:)Ci:fV,&o?j 
r.K'K'^KoifciSi'x, 


22  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

And  Beauty  dwells  in  them,  and  they  in  her,  375 

With  like  participation  :  wherefore  then, 

O  sons  of  earth  !  would  3'e  dissolve  the  tie  ? 

O  wherefore  !  with  a  rash  impetuous  aim. 

Seek  ye  those  flowery  joys  with  which  the  hand 

Of  lavish  Fancy  paints  each  flattering  scene,  380 

Where  Beauty  seems  to  dwell,  nor  once  inquire 

Where  is  the  sanction  of  eternal  Truth, 

Or  where  the  seal  of  undeceitful  Good, 

To  save  your  search  from  foUy  1  Wanting  these, 

Lo  !  Beauty  withers  in  your  void  embrace,  385 

And  with  the  glittering  of  an  idiot's  toy 

Did  Fancy  mock  your  vows.     Nor  let  the  gleam 

Of  youthful  hope,  that  shines  upon  your  hearts. 

Be  chill'd  or  clouded  at  this  awful  task. 

To  learn  the  lore  of  undeceitful  Good,  390 

And  Truth  eternal.*     Though  the  poisonous  charms 

Of  baleful  Superstition,   guide  the  feet 

Of  servile  nunjbers  through  a  dreary  way 

To  their  abode ;  through  desarts,  thorns  and  mire. 

And  leave  the  wretched  pilgrim  all  forlorn,  395 

To  muse  at  last,  amid  the  ghostly  gloom 

should  perceive,  one  of  them  beauty,  and  the  other  deformity,  in  the 
same  proportions.  And  upon  this  supposition,  by  that /;■?///;  which 
is  always  connected  with  beauty,  nothing  more  can  b*  meant  than 
the  conformity  of  any  object  to  those  proportions  ajjon  «luch,  af- 
ter careful  examination,  the  beauty  of  that  species  is  found  to  de- 
pend. Polyclctiis,  for  instance,  a  famous  ancient  sculptor,  from 
an  accurate  mensuration  of  the  several  parts  of  the  most  perfect  hu- 
man bodies,  deduced  a  canon  or  system  of  proportions,  \\hich  vas 
the  rule  of  all  succeeding  artists.  Suppose  a  statue  modelled  accord- 
ing this;  a  man  of  mere  natural  taste,  ujxjn  looking  at  it,  without 
(entering  into  its  proportions,  confesses  and  admires  its  heaut<j; 
wiiereas  a  professor  of  the  art  applies  his  measures  to  the  head,  the 
neck,  or  the  hand,  and,  without  attending  to  its  beauty,  pronouuccs 
the  workmanship  to  hcjuat  and  true. 

*  JJooh  T.  Unc  ■\5Q. 


IMAGINATION,    BOOK  I.  23 

Of  graves,  and  hoary  vaults,  and  cloistcr'd  cells ; 

To  walk  with  spectres  through  the  midnight  shade. 

And  to  the  screaming  owl's  accursed  song 

Attune  the  dreadful  workings  of  his  heart;  400 

Yet  be  not  ye  dismay'd  ;*  a  gentler  star 

Your  lovely  search  illumines.     From  the  grove 

Where  Wisdom  talk'd  with  her  Athenian  sons. 

Could  my  ambitious  hand  intwine  a  wreath 

Of  Plato's  olive  with  the  Mantuan  bay,  405 

Then  should  my  powerful  verse  at  once  dispel 

Those  monkish  horrors  ;  then  in  light  divine 

Disclose  the  Elysian  prospect,  where  the  steps 

Of  those  whom  Nature  charms,  thro'  blooming  walks. 

Through  fragrant  mountains  and  poetic  streams,      410 

Amid  the  train  of  sage;-,  heroes,  bards. 

Led  by  their  winged  Genius  and  the  choir 

Of  laurell'd  Science  and  harmonious  Art, 

Proceed  exulting  to  the  eternal  shrine. 

Where  Truth  conspicuous  with  her  sister-twins,      415 

The  undivided  partners  of  her  sway. 

With  Good  and  Beauty  reigns. t     O  let  not  us, 

Lull'd  by  luxurious  Pleasure's  languid  strain. 

Or  crouching  to  the  frowns  of  bigot-rage, 

O  let  us  not  a  moment  pause  to  join  4'2€' 

That  godlike  band.     And  if  the  gracious  power, 

t  Who  first  awaken'd  my  untutored  song. 

Will  to  my  invocation  breathe  anew 

Tlie  tuneful  spirit;  then  through  all  our  paths. 

Ne'er  shall  the  sound  of  this  devoted  lyre  425 

Be  wanting ;  whether  on  the  rosy  mead. 

When  summer  smiles,  to  warn  the  melting  heart 

*JJooi  I,  line  472.  f  Ihok  I,  iine  4f>5. 


24  THE  PLEASURES   OF 

Of  Luxury's  allurement;  whether  iirm 

Against  the  torrent  and  the  stubborn  hill 

To  *  urge  bold  Virtue's  unremitted  nerve,  436 

And  wake  the  strong  divinity  of  soul 

That  conquers  Chance  and  Fate ;  or  whether  struck 

For  sounds  of  triumph^  to  proclaim  her  toils 

Upon  the  lofty  summit  ;  round  her  brow 

To  twine  the  wreath  of  incorruptive  praise  ;  435 

To  trace  her  hallow'd  light  through  future  worlds. 

And  bless  heaven's  image  in  the  heart  of  man. 
Thus  *  with  a  faithful  aim  have  we  presum'd. 
Adventurous,  to  delineate  Nature's  form  j 
Whether  in  vast  majestic  pomp  array'd,  4-10 

Or  drest  for  pleasing  Wonder,  or  serene 
In  Beauty's  rosy  smile.     It  now  remains. 
Through  various  Being's  fair-proportion'd  scale. 
To  trace  the  rising  lustre  of  her  charms. 
From  their  first  twilight,  shining  forth  at  length,     44j 
To  full  meridian  splendor.     Of  degree 
The  least  and  lowliest,  in  the  eflusive  warmth 
Of  Colours  mingling  with  a  random  blaze. 
Doth  Beauty  dwell.     Then  higher  in  the  line 
And  variation  of  determin'd  shape,  450 

Where  Truth's  eternal  measures  mark  the  bound 
Of  circle,  cube,  or  sphere.     The  third  ascent 
Unites  this  varied  symmetry  of  parts 
With  Colour's  bland  allurement ;  as  the  pearl 
Shines  in  the  concave  of  its  azure  bed,  455 

And  painted  shells  indent  their  speckled  wreath. 
Then  more  attractive  rise  the  blooming  forms. 
Through  which  the  breath  of  Nature  has  infused 
*  Booh  I,  \ineb\^. 


1[MAGINATION,    BOOK  t  2 

Her  genial  power,  to  draw  with  pregnant  veins 
Nutritious  moisture  from  the  bounteous  earth,  460 

In  fruit  and  seed  prolific  :  thus  the  flowers 
Their  purple  honours  with  the  Spring  resume ; 
And  such  the  stately  tree  which  Autumn  bends 
With  blushing  treasures.  *     But  more  lovely  still 
Is  Nature's  charm,  where  to  the  full  consent  4G5 

Of  complicated  members,  to  the  bloom 
Of  colour,  and  the  vital  change  of  growth. 
Life's  holy  flame  and  piercing  sense  are  given. 
And  active  mdUon  speaks  the  temper'd  soul : 
So  moves  the  bird  of  Juno;  so  the  steed  +"0 

With  rival  ardour  beats  the  dusty  plain. 
And  faithful  dogs  with  eager  airs  of  joy 
Salute  their  fellows,  f    _Thus  doth  Beauty  dwell 
There  most  conspicuous,  even  in  outward  shape. 
Where  dawns  the  high  expression  of  a  mind  :  4*7  "> 

By  steps  conducting  our  inraptured  search 
To  that  Etersal  Ouigin  whose  power. 
Through  all  the  unbounded  symmetry  of  things. 
'    f -ike  rays  effulging  from  the  parent  sun. 
This  endlos  mixture  of  her  charms  diffused.  4S0 

Mind,  I  Minu  alone,  bear  witness,  carlU  and  heaven  ! 
The  living  fountains  in  itself  contains 
Of  Bealteou'j  and  Str.uME  :  here  hand  in  hand. 
Sit  paramount  the  Graces ;  here  enthroned, 
'  (I'lestial  Venus,  with  divinest  airs,  1^  > 

Invites  the  soul  to  never-fading  joy. 
Look  then  abroad  through  Nature,  to  the  range 
W||  planets,  suns,  and  adamantine  splieres 

•  Bxi  I,   line  b'Ji'.      A   Boil:  F,  line  bb?).     %  Boole  I,  lim:  bCC 
.         ]';  H'xjv  II,  line  C61. 

c 


26  THE    PLEASURES   0*F 

Wheeling:  unshaken  through  the  void  immense; 

And  speak,  O  man  !  does  this  capacious  scene         490 

With  half  that  kindling  majesty  dilate 

Thy  strong  conception,  as  when  Bnurus  rose* 

Refulgent  from  the  stroke  of  Cesar's  fate. 

Amid  the  croud  of  patriots;  and  his  arm 

Aloft  extending,  like  eternal  Jove  495 

When  Guilt  brings  down  the  thunder,  called  aloud 

On  Tully's  name,  and  shook  his  crimson  steel. 

And  bade  the  father  of  his  country  hail !] 

For  lo  !   the  Tyrant  prostrate  on  the  dust. 

And  Rome  again  is  free  ?  f     Is  aught  so  fair  ^00 

In  all  the  dewy  landscaj'^s  of  the  spring. 

In  the  bright  eye  of  Hesper  or  the  morn. 

In  Nature's  fairest  forms,  is  ought  so  fair 

As  virtuous  Friendship  ?  as  the  candid  blush    ' 

Of  him  who  strives  with  fortune  lo  be  just?  505 

The  graceful  tear  that  streams  for  others'  woes  ? 

Or  the  mild  majesty  of  private  life. 

Where  peace  with  ever-blooming  olive  crowns 

The  gate;   where  Honour's  liberal  hands  efluse 

Unenvied  treasures,  and  the  snowy  wings  510 

Of  Innocence  and  Love  protect  the  scene  ? 

Once  more  search,  undismay'd,  the  dark  profound 

Where  Nature  works  in  secret ;  view  the  beds 

Of  mineral  treasure,  and  the  eternal  vault 

That  bounds  the  hoary  cccan ;  trace  the  forms        5k'> 

Of  atoms  moving  with  incessant  change 

*  As  li-hen  Brutus  rose,  &c.]  Cicero  Iiimself  describes  this 
fact — Ccrsare  intrrfectu^-slaihn  crucntum  alie  eitullrns  M.  Bruins 
pi/oimem,  Cicrronem  nomhiatim  exclamavit,  atqiie  ci  reaij:eralai7i 
liberlatem  I'st  patit/aius.     Cic.  Philipp.ii.  1'2 

f  Booi  II,  line  33»\ 


IMAGINATION,    BOOK   I.  27 

Their  elemental  round  ;  behold  the  seeds 

Of  being,  and  the  energy  of  life 

Kindling  the  mass  with  ever-active  flame  : 

Then  to  the  secrets  of  the  working  mind  520 

Attentive  turn  ;  from  dim  Oblivion  call 

Iler  fleet,  ideal  band ;  and  bid  them  go ! 

Break  through  Time's  barrier,  and  overtake  the  hour 

That  saw  the  heavens  created  :  then  declare 

If  aught  v^ere  found  in  those  external  scenes  525 

To  move  thy  wonder  now.  *     For  what  are  all 

The  forms,  which  brute,  unconscious  Matter  wears. 

Greatness  of  bulk,  or  summetry  of  parts? 

Not  reaching  to  the  heart,  soon  feeble  grows 

The  superficial  impulse  ;  dull  their  charms,  530 

And  satiate  soon,  and  pall  the  languid  eye. 

Not  t  so  the  IVIoKAL  species,  nor  the  powers 

Of  Gesics  and  Design;  the  ambitious  mind 

There  sees  herself:  by  these  congenial  forms 

Touch 'd  and  awaken'd,  with  intenser  act  535 

She  bends  each  nerve,  and  meditates  well-pleased 

Ikr  features  in  the  mirror.     For  of  all 

The  inhabitants  of  earth,  to  man  alone 

Creative  Wisdom  gave  to  lift  his  eye 

To  Trcth's  eternal  measures ;  thence  to  frame         540 

The  sacred  laws  of  Action  and  of  Will, 

Discerning  justice  from  unequal  deeds. 

And  temperance  from  folly.     But  beyond 

This  energy  of  Tkl'tit,  whose  dictates  bind 

Assenting  Keasoii,  the  benignant  .Sua:,  545 

To  deck  the  honoured  paths  of  Jlst  and  Goou, 

Has  added  bright  Imagination's  rays  : 

♦  Bx.k  If,  liHf  !  '.  -I  Bik  U,  tinf  '10. 


28  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

Where  *  Virtue  risinjj  from  the  awful  depth 

Of  truth's  in3'Sterious  bosom,  doth  forsake 

The  unadorned  condition  of  her  birth  ;  350 

And  dressed  by  Fancy  in  ten  thousand  hues, 

j^ssumes  a  various  feature,  to  attract. 

With  charms  responsive  to  each  gazer's  eye. 

The  hearts  of  men.     Amid  his  rural  walk. 

The  ingenuous  youth,  whom  Solitude  inspires  555 

With  purest  wishes,  from  the  pensive  shade 

Eeholds  her  moving-,  like  a  virgin-muse 

That  wakes  her  lyre  to  some  indulgent  theme 

Of  harmony  and  wonder  :  while  among 

The  herd  of  servile  minds,  her  strenuous  form  iCO. 

Indignant  flashes  on  the  patriot's  eye. 

And  through  the  rolls  of  Memory  appeals 

To  ancient  Honour,  or  in  act  serene. 

Yet  watchful,  raises  the  majestic  sword 

Of  public  Power,  from  dark  Ambition's  reach  5G5. 

To  guard  the  sacred  volume  of  the  laws. 

Genius  of  ancient  Greece  !   whose  faithful  steps  f 
Well-plcas'd  I  follow  through  the  sacred  paths 
'  Of  Nature  and  of  Science;  nurse  divine 
Of  all  heroic  deeds  and  fair  desires  !  570 

O  !  let  the  breath  of  thy  extended  praise 
Inspire  my  kindling  bosom  to  the  height 
Of  this  untemper'd  theme.     Nor  be  my  thoughts 
Presumptuous  counted,  if,  amid  the  calm 
That  sooths  this  vernal  evening  into  smiles,  '     575 

*  V.  .548.  Where  virtue  rising  from  the  awful  dcj,th 
Of  Truth's  mysterious  bosom,  &c.]  According  to  the  opin- 
ion of  those  who  assert  rtioral  obligation  to  be  founded  on  an  immu- 
table and  nnivcrsal  law,  and  that  pathetic  feeling,  which  is  usually 
called  the  moral  soisc,  to  be  determined  by  the  peculiar  temper., 
of  the  imagination  and  t)ie  earliest  associations  of  ideas, 
t  J^ouk  I,  line  6^0. 


IMAGINATION,    BOOK   I. 


29 


I  steal  impatient  from  the  sordid  haunts 

Of  strife  and  low  ambition,  to  attend 

Thy  sacred  presence  in  the  sylvan  shade. 

By  their  malignant  footsteps  ne'er  profaned. 

Descend,  propitious  !  to  my  favour'd  eye ;  580 

Such  in  thy  mien,  thy  warm,  exalted  air. 

As  when  the  Persian  tyrant,  foil'd  and  stung 

With  shame  and  desperation,  gnash'd  his  teeth 

To  see  thee  rend  the  pageants  of  his  throne ; 

And  at  the  lightning  of  thy  lifted  spear  585 

Crouch'd  like  a  slave.     Bring  all  thy  martial  Spoils 

Thy  Palms,  thy  Laurels,  thy  triwmphal  Songs, 

Thy  smiling  band  of  Arts,  t'ly  godhke  Siues 

Of  civil  wisdom,  thy  heroic  Yov th 

Warm  from  the  schools  of  glory.  *    Guide  my  way  590 

Through  fair  Lyceum's  1  walk,  the  green  retreats 

Of  Academus,  1  and  the  thymy  vale, 

Where  oft  enchanted  with  Socratic  sounds, 

Ilissus  §  pure  devolv'd  his  tuneful  stream 

In  gentler  nmrmurs.     From  the  blooming  s-tore         595 

Of  these  auspicious  field!»,  may  I  unl)latned, 

Transplant  some  living  blossoms  to  adorn 

My  native  clime  :  w  hile  far  above  the  flight 

Of  fancy's  plume  Hspiring,  I  uidock 

The  sprujgs  of  ancient  wisdom  ;  while  I  join  (-00 

Thy  name,  thrice  honour'd  !   with  the  imui  »rlal  pra.sc 

Of  Nature  ;  while  to  my  compatriot  youth 

I  point  the  high  example  of  thy  sons. 

And  tune  to  Attic  themes  the  British  lyre. 

*  nu<,i  I,  line  ChO.  f  V.  .')y\.  l.yi''<i"i.  T\if  scIiojI  of  AiLmU-. 
+'  V.   .')<.»'2.     Acadcmu ,.']      I'lif  >ch'<')l  of /'/«'". 

§  V  ')Pi  Uitus.']  Om;  of  ih«-  n-'^i--  on  wl.ich  Alhvn-  was  miu- 
atcd.  Jlu'n,  in  Mm..,-  of  Lis  f.m■^t  <l  r.l  -gif  S  I^'vs  the  .c  r.-  ui  ti,e 
convcr-a! ion  with  .S'lu/u'''-  on  it'^  biinks 


ARGUMENT 

OF 

THE  SECOND  BOOK 


THE  separation  of  the  works  of  imagination  from  philosophy,  tlte 
cause  of  thejr  abuse  among  the  moderns.  Prospect  of  their  re- 
union under  the  infloence  of  pubUc  liberty.  Enumeratiun  of  ac* 
cidental  pleasures,  which  increase  tlie  effect  of  objects  delightful 
to  the  imagination.  The  pleasures  of  sense.  Particular  circum- 
stances of  the  mind.  Discovery  of  truth.  Perception  of  contriv- 
ance and  design.  Emotion  of  the  passions.  All  the  natural  pas- 
sions partake  of  a  pleading  sensation  ^  with  the  final  cause  of  this 
constitution  illustrated  by  an  allegorical  vi$ion>  and  exempUHett 
in  sarrow,  pi^,.  terror,  and  indignation. 


THE 
PLEASURES 


IMAGINATION. 

V 

BOOK    THE    SECONB. 

W  HEN  shall  the  laurel  an  d  the  vocal  string: 

Resume  their  honours  ?     When  shall  we  behold 

The  tuneful  tongue,  the  Promethean  hand 

Aspire  to  ancient  praise }     Alas  1  how  iaint. 

How  slow  the  dawn  of  Beauty  and  of  Truth  5 

Breaks  the  reluctant  shades  of  Gothic  night 

Which  yet  involve  the  nations !     Long  they  groan'd 

Beneath  the  furies  of  rapacious  Force ; 

Oft  as  the  gloomy  North,  with  iron-swarms 

Tempestuous  pouring  from  her  frozen  caves,  10 

Blasted  the  Italian  shore,  and  swept  the  works 

Of  Liberty  and  Wisdom  down  the  gulph 

Of  all-devouring  night.     As  long  immured 

In  noon>tide  darkness  by  the  glimmering  lamp. 

Each  Muse  and  each  fair  Scien'ce  pined  away  15 

The  sordid  hours  :  while  foul,  barbarian  hands 

Their  mysteries  profaned,  unstrung  the  lyre. 

And  chain'd  the  soaring  pinion  down  to  earth. 


32  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

At*  last,  the  muses  rose  and  spurned  their  bonds. 

And,  wildly  warbling,  scatter'd,  as  they  flew,  20 

Their  blooming  wreaths  from  fair  Valclusa's  bowers  t 

To  Arno's  myrtle  border  and  the  shore  I 

Of  soft  Parthenope.     But  still  the  rage  § 

Of  ^  dire  ambition  and  gigantic  power. 

From  public  aims  and  from  the  busy  walk  25 

Of  civil  commerce,  drove  the  bolder  train 

Of  penetrating  science,  to  the  cells. 

Where  studious  ease  consumes  the  silent  hour 

In  shadowy  searches  and  unfruitful  care. 

Thus  from  their  guardians  torn,  the  tender  arts  ||       30 

•  V.  19.  At  lust  the  muses  rose,  &c.]  About  the  age  of  Ihifrh  Ctiju  •, 
founder  of  the  third  race  of  French  kings,  the  poets  of  Provence  were 
in  high  reputation;  a  sort  of  strolling  hards  or  rhapsodist^,  who  went 
about  the  courts  of  princes  and  noblemen,  entertaining  them  at  fes- 
tivals with  music  and  poetry-  They  attempted  both  the  epic,  ode, 
and  satire;  and  abounded  in  a  ■wild  and  fantastic  vein  of  fable,  part- 
ly allegorical,  and  partly  founded  on  traditionary  legends  of  the 
Saracen  war?.  These  were  the  rudiments  of  Italian  poetry.  But 
their  taste  and  composition  must  have  bren  extremely  barbarous,  as 
we  may  judge  by  those  who  followed  the  turn  of  their  fable  in  much 
politer  times;  ^\eh  as  Buiardn,  Bcrnaido  Tasso,  Aiiasio,   &V. 

f  V.  21.  ValclnsaJ^  The  famous  retreat  of /V((»ja>co  Fetrraclia,  the 
father  of  Italian   poetry,  and  \\'v.  nvistress  l.n'ira,  a  lady  of  /iv!f;non. 

X  V.  22.  Arno.']  The  river  which  runs  by  Florence,  the  birth  place 
of  Dante  and  Roccacio- 

§  V.  2.'3.  Parthenope.']  Or  Naples,  the  birth  place  of  SannaTarO'  The 
great  Turguato  fasso  was  born  at  Sorrento  in  tlie  kingdom  of  yaplcs. 

Ibid.  the  ra<^c 

f  V.2k  Of  flire  ambition  fife]  This  relates  to  the  cruel  wars  annong 
the  republics  of //a';/,  and  abominable  politic^  of  its  little  princes,  about 
the  fif{.5enth  centuiy.  These  at  last,  in  coniunction  with  the  papal 
power,  entirsly  extinguished  the  spirit  of  liberty  in  that  co'tutry, 
and  established  that  abuse  of  the  fine  arts  wliich  has  been  since  pro- 
pagated over  all  Furopc. 

(I  V.  30.  Thus  from  their  guardian',  torn,  the  tender  arts,  &c.]  Nor  were 
they  only  losers  by  the  separation.  For  philosophy  it.iclf,  to  use 
the  words  of  a  noble  philosopher,  hein^  thus  severed  from  the  sprightly 
arti  and  science;,  must  consequently  prou;  dronish,  insipid,  pedant:c, 
u:ele::s,  and  directbj  opposite  to  the  real  kH0ttled;'e  and  practice  of  the 
xeorld.  Insomuch  that  a  gentleman,  says  another  excellent  writer, 
cannot  easily  bring  liimiclf  to  like  so  austere  aid  ungainly  a  form  :  .'o 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK  II.  33 

Of  mimic  fancy  and  harmonious  joy. 

To  priestly  domination  and  the  hist 

Of  lawless  courts,  their  amiable  toil 

For  three  inglorious  ages  have  resign'd ; 

In  vain  reluctant :  and  Torquato's  tongue  35 

Was  tuned  for  slavish  paeans  at  the  throne 

Of  tinsel  pomp:  and  Raphael's  magic  hand 

EfFused  its  fair  creation  to  enchant 

The  fond  adoring  herd  in  Latiati  fanes 

To  blind  belief;  while  on  their  prostrate  necks  40 

The  sable  tyrant  plants  his  heel  secure. 

But  now,  behold  !  the  radiant  a^ra  dawns, 

When  Freedom's  ample  fabric,  tix'd  at  length 

For  endles>  years  on  Albion's  happy  shore 

In  full  proportion,  once  more  shall  extend  4.3 

To  all  the  kindred  powers  of  social  bliss 

A  common  mansion,  a  parental  roof. 

There  shall  the  Virtues,  there  shall  Wisdom's  train, 

Their  long-lost  friends  rejoining,  as  of  old. 

Embrace  the  smiling  family  of  Arts,  30 

The  Muses  and  the  Graces.     Then  no  moie 

Shall  vice,  distracting  their  delicious  gifts 

"reallij  is  it  changed  from  what  -das  oi.ce  the  delight  of  the  fincJ. 
gentlemen  of  antiipnty,  and  their  recreation  after  the  hurrn  of  piihlir 
u'J'uirs.'  From  this  t-oiKliliuti  it  cannot  be  ie:oveie(l  but  by  niiilin;; 
it  once  more  with  the  works  of  imagination;  and  wc  have  had  the 
pleasure  ofsteerv'.u;-'  a  very  great  progress  made  towards  their  union 
in  lui^ltunl  within  thf'ic  few  years.  It  is  hanily  iiusiule  to  conctive 
them  at  a  greater  distance  from  c-acli  other  than  at  the  KcMihitimi, 
when  Inch:  st<»Kl  at  the  liea<l  of  one  parly,  and  Dnjthn  of  tiie 
other.  IJi.t  the  u'eueral  spirit  of  liberty,  whieh  ha-i  evi  r  -iiii  <:  Ihcd 
growing,  naturally  i.ivilcd  our  mm  of  wit  and  ptniiis  to  impioie 
thatinliuenec,  which  the  arts  cf  persuasion  ga\ethcm  with  the  peo- 
ple, by  applyiiifC  tlum  to  sulyects  of  iinpoitunce  to  society.  Thus 
poetry  and  e!  If jnenc'- beeanic  considcrabh' j  and  philosophy  is  non 
of  course  oblijied  to  burrow  of  their  cinb(  llirhniciit-',  in  older  <.-.eu 
t^)  gain  aiidie!i'.;e  «iih  the  piiMic. 


34  T41E    PLEASURES   01^ 

To  aims  abhorr'd,  with  high  distaste  and  scorn 
Turn  from  their  charms  the  philosophic  eye. 
The  ])atriot-bosom  ;  then  no  more  the  paths  55- 

Of  public  care  or  intellectual  toil. 
Alone  by  footsteps  haughty  and  severe, 
In  gloomy  state  be  trod :  the  harmonious  Muse 
And  her  persuasive  sisters,  then  shall  plant 
Their  sheltering  laurels  o'er  the  bleak  ascent,  GO^ 

And  scatter  flowers  along  the  rugged  way. 
Arm'd  with  the  lyre,  already  have  we  dared 
To  pierce  divine  Philosophy's  retreats, 
And  teach  the  Muse  her  lore ;  already  strove 
Their  long-divided  honours  to  unite,  65 

While  tempering  this  deep  argument  we  sang 
Of  TauTH  and  Beauty.     Now  the  same  glad  task 
Impends;  now  urging  our  ambitious  toih* 
We  hasten  to  recount  the  various  springs 
Of  adventitious  pleasure,  which  adjoin  70 

Their  grateful  influence  to  the  prime  effect 
Of  objects  Grand  or  Beauteous,  and  irdarge 
The  complicated  joy.     The  sweets  of  sense. 
Do  they  not  oft  with  kind  accession  flow, 
To  raise  harmonious  Fancy's  native  charm  ?  75 

So  while  we  tas-te  the  fragrance  of  the  Rose,. 
Glows  not  her  blush  the  fairer  ?     While  we  view  . 
Amid  the  noontide  walk  a  limpid  rill 
Gush  through  the  trickling  herbage,  to  the  thirst 
or  .>,ummcr,  yielding  the  delicious  draught  RO 

Of  cool  refrcilunent;  o'er  the  mossy  blink 
J' hints  not  tiie  surface  clearer,  and  the  waves 
With  sweeter  music  nan'uiur  as  they  flow  r 
Nor  tiiis  alone  :  the  various  lot  of  lif"^ 


IMAGINATION,    BOOK    II.  35 

Ofi  from  external  circumstance,  assumes  85 

A  moment's  disposition  lo  rejoice 
In  those  delights,  which  at  a  different  hour 
Would  pass  unheeded.     Fair  the  face  of  Spring, 
When  rural  songs  and  odours  wake  the  morn. 
To  every  eye  ;  but  how  much  more  to  his  90 

Round  whom  the  bed  of  sickness  long  diffused 
Its  melancholy  gloom  !  how  doubly  fair. 
When  first  with  fresh-born  vigour  lie  inhales 
The  balmy  breeze,  and  feels  the  blessed  sun 
Warm  at  his  bosom,  from  the  springs  of  life  95 

Chasing  oppressive  damps  and  languid  pain  ! 
Or  shall  I  mention,  where  coelestial  Truth 
Her  awful  light  discloses,  to  bestow 
A  more  majestic  pomp  on  Bealty's  frame  ? 
For  man  loves  knowledge,  and  the  beams  of  truth     100 
More  welcome  touch  his  understanding's  eye. 
Than  all  the  blandishments  of  sound  his  ear. 
Than  all  of  taste  his  tongue.     Nor  ever  yet 
The  melting  rainbow's  vernal-tinctured  hues 
To  me  have  shone  so  pkasing,  as  when  first  lOj 

The  hand  of  science  pointed  out  the  path 
In  which  the  sun-beams,  gleaming  from  the  West, 
Fall  on  the  watery  cloud,  whose  darksome  veil 
Imxlves  the  orient ;  and  that  trickling  shower 
Piercing  through  every  crystalline  convex  ]  IC 

Of  clustering  dew-drops  to  their  flight  opposed. 
Recoil  at  length  where  concave  all  Ijchind, 
The  internal  surface  of  each  glassy  orb 
Repels  their  forward  passage  into  air; 
That  thence  direct  they  seek  the  radiant  goal,  J  ]j 

From  which  their  course  began,  and,  as  they  strike 


30  THE    PLEASURES    6 ii- 

In  diffefent  lines  the  gazer's  oLvious  eye. 

Assume  a  different  lustre,  through  the  brede 

Of  colours  changiny^  from  the  splendid  rose 

To  the  pale  violet's  dejected  hue.  126 

Or  shall  we  touch  that  kind  access  of  joy. 
That  springs  to  each  fair  object,  while  we  trace 
Through  all  its  fabric.  Wisdom's  artful  aim 
Disposing  every  part,  and  gaining  still 
By  means  proportioned,  her  benignant  End  ?  125 

Speak,  ye,  the  pure  delight  whose  favoured  steps 
The  lamp  of  science  through  the  jealous  maze 
Of  Nature  guides,  vt'hen  haply  you  reveai 
Her  secret  honours  :  whether  in  the  sky. 
The  beauteous  laws  of  light,  the  central  powers         130 
That  wheel  the  pensile  planets  round  the  year ; 
Whether  in  wonders  of  the  rolling  deep. 
Or  the  rich  fruits  of  all-sustaining  earth. 
Or  fine-adjusted  springs  of  life  and  sense. 
Ye  scan  the  counsels  of  their  Authou's  hand.  135 

What,  when  to  raise  the  meditated  scene. 
The  Piame  of  Passion,  through  the  struggling  soul 
Deep-kindled,  shows  across  that  sudden  blaze 
The  Object  of  its  rapture,  vast  of  size. 
With  fiercer  colours  and  a  night  of  shade  r  140 

V/hat  r  like  a  storm  from  their  capacious  bed 
The  sounding  seas  overwhelming,  when  the  might 
Of  these  eruptions,  working  from  the  depth 
Of  man's  strong  apprehension,  shakes  his  frame 
liven  to  the  base  ;  from  every  naked  sense  I  l-.i 

Of  pain  or  pleasure  dissipating  all 
Opinion's  feeble  coverings,  and  the  veil 
Spun  from  the  coi)v.eb  fashion  of  the  times 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK  11.  37 

To  hide  the  feeUng  heart  ?  ITien  Nature  speaks 

Her  genuine  language,  and  the  words  of  men,  150 

Big  with  the  very  motion  of  their  souls. 

Declare  with  what  accumulated  force. 

The  impetuous  nerve  ef  Passion  urges  oil 

The  native  weight  and  energy  of  things. 

Yet  more:  her  honours  where  nor  Beauty  claims,  155 
Nor  shews  of  gciod  the  thirsty  sense  allure. 
From  *  passion's  power  alone  our  nature  holds      / 
Essential  pleasure.     Passion's  fierce  illapse  y* 

Rouses  the  mind's  whole  fabric ;  with  supplies 
Of  daily  impulse  keeps  the  elastic  powers  100 

Intensely  poized,  and  polishes  anew  \ 

By  that  collision  all  the  fine  machine  : 
Else  rust  would  rise,  and  foulness  by  degrees 
Incumbering,  choak  at  last  what  Heaven  design 'd 
For  ceaseless  motion,  and  a  round  of  toil.  1  (55 

—But  say,  does  every  passion  thus  to  man 
Administer  delight?  That  name  indeed 
Becomes  the  rosy  breath  of  love ;  becomes 


^  *.  V  157.  FromPussion's  j)Ou:er  alone,  &>.  ]  Tlil=;  verj' myslerious 
kind  of  pleastire,  which  is  often  found  in  the  exercise  of  passions 
(renerally  counted  painful,  lias  been  taken  notice  of  by  several 
authors.  iMcret'ius  resolves  it  into  self-love  : 

Suave  mari  maf!,no,  &c.  lib.  ii.  1. 
As  if  a  man  was  never  pleased  in  Ixiing  moved  at  the  distress  of  a 
trage<ly,  without  a  Cfxjl  reflection  t'iiat  though  these  fictitious  per- 
sonages where  so  unhappy,  yet  he  himself  was  perfectly  at  case  and 
in  safety.  The  ingenious  auttior  of  tlie  lieflect'wns  critiques  iur  la 
Poesie  £s  svr  la  Peininre,  accounts  for  it  by  the  general  delight 
which  the  mind  takes  in  its  own  activity,  apd  ihe  abhorrence  it 
feels  of  ail  indohnt  and  inattentive  state  :  and  this,  joinwl  witli  the 
moral  approbation  of  its  own  temper,  which  attends  these  emt.t ions 
when  natural  and  just,  is  certainly  tlie  true  foundation  of  the  pleas- 
ure, which,  as  it  is  tlie  orizin  and  basis  of  tragrdy  and  epic,  de- 
served a  very  particular  consideration  in  this  poem.  X 

D 


38  THE  PLEASURES   OF 

The  radiant  smiles  ofjqy,  the  applauding  hand 

Of  admiration ;  but  the  bitter  shower  1"0 

That  sorrow  sheds  upon  a  brother's  grave. 

But  the  dumb  palsy  of  nocturnal  fear, 

Or  those  consuming  fires  that  gnaw  the  heart 

Of  panting  indignation,  find  we  there 

To  move  delight  ?  Then  listen,  while  my  tongue      175 

The  unalter'd  will  of  Heaven  with  faithful  awe 

Reveals ;  what  old  Harmodius  wont  to  teach 

]VIy  early  age  ;  IIarmobius,  who  had  weigh'd 

Within  his  learned  mind  whate'cr  the  schools 

Of  wisdom,  or  thy  lonely-whispering  voice,  180 

O  faithful  Nature  !  dictate  of  the  laws 

Which  govern  and  support  this  mighty  frame 

Of  universal  being.     Oft  the  hours, 

I-'rom  morn  to  eve,  have  stolen  unmark'd  away, 

While  mute  attention  hung  upon  his  lips,  1 85 

As  thus  the  sage  his  awful  tale  began. 

'Twas  in  the  windings  of  an  ancient  wood. 
When  spotless  youth  with  solitude,  resigns 
To  sweet  philosophy  the  studious  day. 
What  time  pale  Autumn  shades  the  silent  eve,         190 
Musino-  I  roved.     Of  Goon  and  Evil  much. 
And  much  of  mortal  Man  my  thought  revolved  ; 
When  started  full  on  Fancy's  gushing  eye. 
The  mournful  image  of  Parthenia's  fate  : 
That  hour,  O  long  beloved  and  long  deplored  !         195 
When  blooming  Youth,  nor  gentlest  Wisdom's  arts, 
Nor  Hymen's  honours  gathered  for  thy  brow. 
Nor  all  thy  Lover's,  all  thy  Father's  tears 
Availed  to  snatch  thee  from  the  cruel  grave  : 
Thy  agonizing  looks,  thy  last  farewel  200 


IMAGINATION,    BOOK    II.  39 

Struck  to  the  inmost  feeling  of  my  soul. 

As  with  the  hand  of  death.     At  once  the  shade 

More  horrid  nodded  o'er  me,  and  the  winds 

With  hoarser  murmuring  shook  the  branches.     Dark 

As  midnight  storms,  the  scene  of  human  things       205 

Appear'd  before  nae ;  desarts,  burning  sands. 

Where  the  parch 'd  adder  dies ;  the  frozen  South, 

And  Desolation  blasting  all  the  West 

With  rapine  and  with  murder :  tyrant  Power 

Here  sits  enthroned  with  blood ;  the  baleful  charms  210 

Of  Superstition  there  infect  the  skies. 

And  turn  the  sub  to  horror.     Gracious  Heaven  ! 

What  is  the  life  of  man  ?     Or  cannot  these. 

Not  these  portents  thy  awful  will  suffice  r 

That,  propagated  thus  beyond  their  scope,  215 

They  rise  to  act  their  cruelties  anew 

In  my  afflicted  bosom ;  thus  decreed 

The  universal  sensitive  of  Pain, 

The  wretched  heir  of  evils,  not  its  own  ! 

Thus  I  impatient ;  when,  at  once  effused,  220 

A  flashing  torrent  of  coelestial  day 
Burst  through  the  shadowy  void.     With  slow  descent 
A  purple  cloud  came  floating  through  the  sky. 
And  poized  at  length  within  the  circling  trees, 
Hung  obvious  to  my  view  ;  till  opening  wide  225 

Its  lucid  orb,  a  more  than  human  form 
Emerging,  lean'd  majestic  o'er  my  head. 
And  instant  thunder  shook  the  conscious  grove. 
Then  melted  into  air  the  liquid  cloud. 
And  all  the  shining  vision  stood  reveal'd.  2,10 

A  wreath  of  palm  his  ample  forehead  bound. 
And  o'er  his  shoulder,  mantling  to  his  knee, 


40  THE  PLEASURES   01- 

Flow'd  the  transparent  robe,  around  his  waist 

Collected  with  a  radiant  zone  of  gold 

jEthereal :  there  in  mystic  signs  ingravcd  235 

I  read  his  ofllce  high  and  sacred  name, 

GENIUS  OF  HUMAN  KIND.    Appall'd  I  gazed 

The  godlike  presence  j  for  athwart  his  brow 

Displeasure,  tempered  with  a  mild  concern, 

Look'd  down  reluctant  on  me,  and  his  words  210 

Like  distant  thunders  broke  the  murmuring  air. 

Vain  are  thy  thoughts,  O  child  of  mortal  birth  I 
And  impotent  thy^  tongue.     Is  thy  short  span 
Capacious  of  this  universal  frame  ? 
Thy  wisdom  all-sufficient  ?     Thou,  alas  !  2 1-,5 

Dost  thou  aspire  to  judge  between  the  Lori> 
Of  Nature  and  his  works?  to  lift  thy  voice 
Against  the  sovran  order  he  decreed. 
All  Good  and  Lovt.i.y  ?  to  blaspheme  the  bands 
Of  tenderness  innate  and  sociallove,  250 

Holiest  of  things  !    by  which  the  general  orb 
Of  being,  as  by  adamantine  links. 
Was  drawn  to  perfect  union  and  sustain'd 
From  everlasting  ?     Hast  thou  felt  the  pangs 
Of  softening  sorrow,  of  indignant  zeal  2.5,3 

So  grievous  to  the  soul,  as  thence  to  wish 
The  ties  of  Nature  broken  from  thy  frame; 
That  so  thy  selfish,  unrelenting  heart 
Might  cease  to  mourn  its  lot,  no  longer  then 
The  wretched  heir  cf  evils  not  its  own  ?  260 

O  fair  benevolence  of  generous  minds  ! 
O  man  by  Nature  form'd  for  all  mankind  ! 

He  spoke ;  abash'd  and  silent  I  remain'd. 
As  conscious  of  my  tongue's  offence,  and  aw*"' 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK    II.  41 

Before  his  presence,  though  my  secret  soul  265 

Disdain'd  the  imputation.     On  the  ground 

I  fix'd  my  eyes ;  till  from  his  airy  couch 

He  stoop'd  sublime,  and  touching  with  his  hand 

My  dazzled  forehead.  Raise  thy  sight,  he  cried. 

And  let  thy  sense  convince  thy  erring  tongue.  270 

I  looked,  and  lo  !  the  former  scene  was  changed ; 

For  verdant  alleys  and  surrounding  trees, 

A  solitary  prospect,  wide  and  wild, 

Riish'd^Mi  my  senses.     'Twas  a  horrid  pile 

Of  hills  with  many  a  shaggy  forest  mix'd,  275 

With  many  a  sable  clift'and  glittering  stream. 

Aloft  recumbent  oVr  the  hanging  ridge. 

The  brown  woods  waved ;  while  ever-trickling  springs, 

Wash'd  from  the  naked  roots  of  oak  and  pine. 

The  crumbling  soil ;  and  still  at  every  fall  280 

Down  the  steep  windings  of  the  channel'd  rock, 

Kemurmuring  rush'd  the  congregated  floods 

With  hoarder  inundation  ;  till  at  last 

They  readi'd  a  grassy  plain,  which  from  the  skirts 

Of  that  high  depart  spread  her  verdant  lap,  285 

And  drank  the  gushing  moisture,  where  confined 

In  one  smooth  current,  o'er  the  lilied  vale 

Clearer  than  glass  it  flow'd.     Autumnal  spoils 

Luxuriant  spreading  to  the  rays  of  morn, 

Blush'd  o'er  the  clifts,  whose  half-incircling  mound  20O 

As  in  a  sylvan  theatre  inclosed 

That  flowery  level.     On  the  river's  brink 

I  spied  a  fair  pavilion,  which  diffused 

Its  floating  umbrage  'mid  the  silver  shade 

Of  osiers.     Now  the  western  sun  reveal'd  295 

J'>etw\cn  two  parting  clitt's  his  rroUien  orb, 
])  2  " 


42  THE   PLEASURES   OP 

And  pour'd  across  the  shadow  of  the  hills. 
On  rocks  and,  floods,  a  yellow  stream  of  light 
That  cheer'd  the  solemn  scene.     My  list'niiig  pow  ers 
Were  awed,  and  every  thought  in  silence  hung,       300 
And  wondering  expectation.     Then  the  voice 
Of  that  coslestial  power,  the  mystic  show 
Declaring,  thus  my  deep  attention  call'd. 
Inhabitant  of  earth,  *  to  whom  is  given 

*  V.  304.  Inhabitant  of  earth,  &c.]  The  account  of  the  ccconomy 
of  providence  here  introduced,  as  the  most  proper  to  calm  and  sa- 
tisfy the  mind  when  under  the  compunction  of  private  evils,  seems 
to  have  come  originally  from  the  Pythagorean  school :  but  of  the 
ancient  philosophers,  Plato  has  most  largely  insisted  ujwn  it,  has 
established  it  with  all  the  strength  of  his  capacious  understanding,  and 
ennobled  \t  with  all  themagiiilicenee  of  his  divine  imagination.  He 
has  one  passage  so  full  and  clear  on  this  head,  tiiat  I  am  persuaded- 
the  reader  will  be  pleased  to  see  it  here,  though  somewhat  long. 
Addressing  himself  to  such  as  are  not  satisfied  concerning  divine 
providence :  The  Being  "jcho  presides  over  the  ivholc,  says  he,  kus, 
diiposed  and  complicated  all  things  for  the  happiness  and  virtue  of  the 
•jshole,  evtru  part  of  vchivh,  according  to  the  extent  of  its  injlucnccy 
does  andsujj'ers  what  is  Jit  and  proper.  One  of  tiieie  parts  is  yours,  O 
unhappy  man,  tchick  though  in  itself  most  inconsidv ruble  and  minute, 
yet  being  connected  uith  the  universe,  ever  seeis  to  co-operate  with 
that  supreme  order.  You  in  the  mean  time  are  ignorant  vf  the  veri/ 
end  for  n'hich  all  particular  nciliircs  are  Itrought  intoe:  istence,  that  the 
all-comprehetding  nature  of  the  whole  may  be  perfect  and  hapjry  ;  ex- 
isting, as  it  does,  not  for  your  sake,  but  the  cause  and  reason  of  your 
existence,  xahich,  as  in  the  symmetry  of  every  artificial  icork,  must  of 
necessity  concur  with  the  general  design  of  the  artist,  and  be  subserti- 
ent  to  the  xchole  of  which  it  is  a  part.  Your  complaint  therefore  is  ig- 
norant and  groundless i  since,  according  to  the  various  energy  of  cre- 
ation, anl  the  common  laics  of  nature,  there  is  a  constant  proii'.ion  of 
that  which  is  Lest  at  the  same  time  for  you  and  fur  the  whole. — For  the 
governing  Intelligence  clearly  beholding  all  the  actions  of  animated  and 
self-moving  creature ,  and  that  mi.xtare  of  good  and  evil  zihich  diversi- 
fies them,  considered  first  of  all  by  what  disjiosition  of  things,  and  by 
what  jituation  of  each  individual  irt  the  general  system,  vice  might  be 
depressed  u'hI  subdued,  and  virtue  made  secure  of  victory  and  happi- 
ness with  the  greatest  facility  and  in  the,  highest  degree  possible:  In 
this  manner  he  ordered  through  the  entire  circle  of  being,  the  internal 
constitut'iO'i  of  every  mi::d,  where  should  be  its  station  in  the  universal 
fabric,  arid  through  what  variety  of  circumstances  it  should  proceed  in 
the  uhulf  tenor  of  its  existence.  He  goes  on  in  his  sublime  manner 
to  assiTt  a  future  state  of  retribntion,  as  well  for  thvse  who,  by  the 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK  II.  43 

The  gracious  ways  of  Providence  to  learn,  305 

Receive  my  saying-s  with  a  steadfast  ear — 

Know  then,  the  Sovran  Spirit  of  the  world. 

Though  self-collected  from. eternal  time. 

Within  his  own  deep  essence  he  beheld 

The  bounds  of  true  Felicity  complete;  310 

Yet  by  immense  benignity  inclined 

To  spread  around  him  that  primaeval  joy 

Which  fill'd  himself,  he  raised  his  plastic  arm. 

And  sounded,  through  the  hollow  depth  of  space 

The  strong,  creative  mandate.     Strait  arose  3]5> 

These  heavenly  orbs,  the  glad  abodes  of  life. 

Effusive  kindled  by  his  breath  divine 

Tlirough  endless  forms  of  being.     Each  inhaled 

From  him  its  [)ortion  of  the  vital  flame. 

In  measure  such,  that,  from  the  wide  complex  320. 

Of  co-existent  orders  *  one  mic^ht  rise, 

One  order,  all-involving  and  entire. 

He  too  beholding,  in  the  sacred  light 

Of  his  essential  reason,  all  the  shapes 

Of  swift  contingence,  all  successive  ties  325 

Of  action  propagated  through  the  sum 

exercise  of  goofl  diifiositions  LeiAg  harmonized  and  assimilated  to  the 
di'/ine  virtue,  are  consequently  removed  to  a  place  of  unblemished  sane- 
fit;/  anil  hafipiness;  as  of  those  who  by  the  mo.:t  J^agitiuiis  arts  have 
ri^cn  from  (.oittcmptible  be;rj,inings  to  the  gr(a!est  ajfbience  and  poufr, 
and  ivhum  ijou  therefore  look  Vjxjn  as  unansicera/ile  instances  of  negli- 
gence in  the  g(xls,  because  i/i/u  aie  ignorard  of  the  purjmics  to  ■u.hick 
they  are  snb:;eivie/it,  and  in  zihat  manner  Ihey  contribute  to  that  sn- 
preme  intention  of  'f^ood  to  the  zihole.     Plato  <!e  Leg.  x.  16. 

This  theory  has  been  delivered  of  late,  es|K;(;ial!y  abroad,  in  a 
manner  wliicli  subverts  the  freedom  of  human  .^ctions  j  wlnrras 
Flato  ap[>ears  very  carefid  to  preserve  it,  and  has  been  in  that 
respect  imitated  by  the  best  of  his  follo>*crs 

♦  V.  C!21.  one  might  ri^e. 

One  order,  iCc.'\     i'ee  the  Meditations  of  Antoninm 
and  the  Chanicteristics  of  loi-d  Shaflsbury,  passim. 


U  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

Of  possible  existence,  he  at  once, 

Down  the  long  series  of  eventful  time. 

So  *  fix'd  the  dates  of  being,  so  disposed. 

To  every  living  soul  of  every  kind,  33® 

The  field  of  motion  and  the  hour  of  rest. 

That  all  conspired  to  his  supreme  design. 

To  universal  good  :  with  full  accord 

Answering  the  mighty  model  he  had  chosen. 

The  best  and  fairest  f  of  unnumbered  worlds  335 

That  lay  from  everlasting  in  the  store 

Of  his  divine  conceptions.     Nor  content. 

By  one  exertion  of  creative  power 

His  goodness  to  reveal ;  through  every  age. 

Through  every  moment  up  the  tract  of  time  310 

His  parent-hand  with  ever-new  increase 

Of  happiness  and  virtue  has  adorn 'd 

The  vast  harmonious  frame :  his  t  parent-hand. 

From  the  mute  shell-fish  gasping  on  the  shore, 

To  men,  to  angels,  to  coelestial  minds,  345 

For  ever  leads  the  generations  on 

To  higher  scenes  of  being  ;  while  supplied 

From  day  to  day  with  his  enlivening  breath. 

Inferior  orders  in  succession  rise 


•  Booi  II,  line  247. 
f  V.  335.   The  best  and  fairest,   AV-]  Tliis  opinion  is  so  oW,  (liat 
TinKTUs  Locrus  calls  the  supreme   being  '^r.u.mzyoc  Tu   BiXW'.y'^, 
the  artificer  of  that  xi-kich  is  leH ;  and  represents  him  as  resohing  in 
the  beginning  to  j)roduee  tlie  most  excellent  work,  and  as  copying 
the  world  most  exactly  from  his  own  intelligible  and  essential  idea  ; 
io  that  it  yi't  remains,  as  it  ■j.as  at  Jirit,  perfect  in  beant'j,  and  u  "7/ 
never  stand  in  need  cf  an;/  correction  or  improvement.     'I'hcre  can  be 
no  room  for  a  caution  here,  to  understand  the  expressions,  not  of, 
any  i)ar^icular  circumstances  of  human   life  separatel\'  considered, 
but  of  the  sum  or  universal  system  of  life  and  being.     See  also  tli<- 
\  is'on  at  the  end  of  the  T/ieodic^e  of  Leibnitz. 
t  B'jol:  IT,  line  257. 


IMAGINATION.    BOOKII.  45 

To  fill  the  void  below.     As  *  flame  ascends,  350 

As  bodies  to  their  proper  centre  move. 

As  the  poized  ocean  to  the  attracting  moon 

Obedient  swells,  and  every  headlong  stream 

Devolves  its  winding  waters  to  the  main ; 

So  all  things  which  have  life  aspire  to  God,  355 

The  sun  of  being,  boundless,  unimpair'd 

Centre  of-souls  !  Nor  does  the  faithful  voice 

Of  Nature  cease  to  prompt  their  eager  steps 

Aright;  nor  is  the  care  of  Heaven  withheld 

From  granting  to  the  task  proportioned  aid  ;  36Q 

That  in  their  stations  all  may  persevere 

To  climb  the  ascent  of  being,  and  approach 

For  ever  nearer  to  the  life  divine. 

That  rocky  pile  thou  see'st,  that  verdant  lawn 
Fresh-water'd  from  the  mountains.    Let  the  scene    365 
Paint  in  thy  fancy  the  primccval  seat 
Of  man,  and  where  the  will  supreme  ordain'd- 
His  mansion,  that  pavilion  fair-diffused 
Along  the  shady  brink ;  in  this  recess 
To  wear  the  appointed  season  of  his  youth,  370 

Till  ri[)er  hours  sliould  open  to  his  toil 
The  high  communion  of  superior  minds. 
Of  consecrated,  heroes  and  of  gods. 
Nor  did  the  Sire  OMMPorrxr  forget 
His  tender  bloom  to  cherish;  nor  withheld  ."57  i 

Cnelestial  footste|)s  from  his  green  abf)de. 
Oft  from  the  radiant  honours  of  his  throne, 
He  sent  whom  mot^t  he  loved,  the  Sovkan  F'aiii 

•V.  3.50.  As  fame  n>ren.'<,  ,SV.]  Tliis  ojjinion,  thoi-'Ii  not. 
lu'W  by  P,'n/o  nor  any  of  the  aniirnts,  i.s  ypt  ;j  very  natural  ninsc- 
quenoe  of  hw  principlrs.  But  fhf;  (li<.qui>itiiin  i<  too  c()inpl<;x  aii«l 
cxtenMvc  to  Uc  rnt'-rcJ  iij«>ii  h<rc. 


40  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

The  Effcuence  of,his  Glory  whom  he  placed 

Before  his  eyes  for  evec  to  behold;  3 SO 

'Die  goddess  from  whose  inspiration  flows 

'I'he  toil  of  patriots,  the  dehght  of  friends ; 

\Yithout  whose  work  divine,  in  heaven  or  earth. 

Nought  lovely,  nought  propitious  comes  to  pass. 

No  J- hope,  nor  praise,  nor  honour.     Her,  the  Sibb  385. 

G;ive  it  in  charge  to  rear  the  blooming  mind; 

The  folded  powers  to  open,  to  direct 

The  growth  lu^i^rjant  of  his  yoimg  desires. 

And  from  the  laws  of  this  majestic  world 

To  teach  him  what  was  good.    As  thus  the  nymph  S9Q 

Jier  daily  care  attended,  by  her  side 

With  constant  steps  her  gay  companion  stay'd, 

Tjie  fair  Euphrosyne',  the  gentle  queen 

Of  smiles,  and  graceful  gladness,  and  delights 

That  cheer  alike  the  hearts  of  mortal  men  3&5 

And  powers  immortal.     See  the  shining  pair ! 

Behold,  where  from  his  dwelling  now  disclosed 

They,  quit  their  youthful  charge  and  seek  the  skies. 

I  looked,  and  on  the  flowery  turf  there  stood 
B,etvveen  two  radiant  forms  a  smiling  youth  400 

Whose  tender  cheeks  display 'd  the  vernal  flower 
Of  Beauty ;  sweetest  innocence  illumed 
His  bashful  eyes,  and  on  his  polish 'd  brow 
Sate  young  Simplicity.     With  fond  regard 
lie  view'd  the  associates,  as  their  steps  they  moved;  40 ;■ 
The  younger  chief  his  ardent  eyes  detain'd. 
With  mild  regret  invoking  her  return. 
Bright  as  the  star  of  evening  she  appear'd 
Amid  the  dusky  scene.     Eternal  youth 
O'er  all  her  form  its  glowing  honours  breathed  ;        410 


1MA€  LOCATION.    BOOK    II.  4>t 

And  smiles  ^terhial  from  her  candid  eyes 

Flow'd,  like  the  dewy  lustre  of  the  morn 

Eflusive  trembling  on  the  placid  waves. 

The  spring  of  heaven  had  shed  its  blushing  spoils 

To  bind  her  sable  tresses :  full  difiused  415 

Her  yellow  mantle  floated  in  the  breeze  ; 

And  in  her  hand  she  waved  a  living  branch 

Rich  with  immortal  fruits,  of  power  to  calm 

The  wrathful  heart,  and  from  the  brightening  ^yes. 

To  chase  the  cloud  of  sadness.     More  sublime  420 

The  heavenly  partner  moved.    The  prime  of  age 

Composed  her  steps.     The  presence  of  a  god, 

High  on  the  circle  of  her  brow  enthroned. 

From  each  majestic  motion  darted  awe. 

Devoted  awe  !  till,  cberish'd  W  her  looks  ■42,5 

Benevolent  and  meek,  confiding  love 

To  filial  rapture  soflen'd  all  the  soul. 

Free  in  her  graceful  hand  she  poized  the  sword 

Of  chaste  dominion.     An  heroic  crown 

Display'd  the  old  simplicity  of  pomp  430 

Around  her  honour'd  head.     A  matron's  rol)e. 

White  as  the  sunshine  streams  through  vernal  clouds. 

Her  stately  form  invested.     Hand  in  hand 

The  immortal  pair  for.»ook  the  enameii'd  green. 

Ascending  slowly.     Rays  of  limpid  light  4:3,5 

Gleam'd  round  their  path;  ccclcstial  sounds  were  heard. 

And  through  the  fragrant  air  aethereal  dews 

Di.still'd  around  them  ;  till  at  once  the  clouds 

Disparting  wide  in  midway  sky,  withdrew 

Their  airy  veil,  and  left  a  bright  expanse  4  i<^ 

Of  empyrean  flame,  where  spent  and  drown'd, 

Afilicted  vision  plunged  in  vain  to  scan 


48  THE 'PLEASURES   OF 

What  object  it  involved.     My  feeble  eyes 
Indured  not.     Bending  down  to  earth  I  stood,    "- 
With  dumb  attention.     Soon  a  female  voice,  445 

As  watery  murmurs  sweet,  or  warbling  shades. 
With  sacred  invocation  thus  began. 

Father  of  gods  and  mortals  !  whose  right  arm 
With  reins  eternal  guides  the  moving  heavens. 
Bend  thy  propitious  ear.     Behold  well-pleased         ibO 
I  seek  to  finish  thy  divine  decree. 
With  frequent  steps  I  visit  yorider  seat 
Of  man,  thy  offspring;  from  the  tender  seeds 
Of  justice  and  of  wisdom,  to  evolve 
The  latent  honours  of  his  generous  frame  ;  455 

Till  thy  conducting  hand  shall  raise  his  lot 
From  earth's  dim  scene  to  these  cethercal  walks. 
The  temple  of  thy  glory.     But  not  me. 
Not  my  directing  voice  he -oft  requires. 
Or  hears  delighted  :  this  inchanting  maid,  460 

The  associate  thou  hast  given  me,  her  alone 
He  loves,  O  Father  !  absent,  her  he  craves  ; 
And  but  for  her  glad  presence  ever  join'd. 
Rejoices  not  in  mine  :  that  all  my  hopes 
This  thy  benignant  purpose  to  fulfil,  '165 

I  deem  uncertain;  and  my  daily  cares 
Unfruitful  all  and  vain,  unless  by  thee 
Still  farther  aided  in  the  work  divine. 

She  ceased ;  a  voice  more  awful  thus  replied. 
O  thou  !  in  whom  for  ever  I  delight,  47'^ 

Fairer  than  all  the  inhabitants  of  heaven. 
Best  image  of  thy  Author !  far  from  thee 
Be  disappointment,  or  distaste,  or  blame  ; 
Who  soon  or  late  shall  every  work  fulfil. 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK   II.  49 

And  no  resistance  find.     If  man  refuse  47  5 

To  hearken  to  thy  dictates;  or,  allured 
By  meaner  joys,  to  any  other  power 
Transfer  the  honours  due  to  thee  alone ; 
That  joy  which  he  pursues  he  iie'er  shall  taste, 
That  power  in  xdtom  delighteth  ne'er  behold.  4S0 

Go  then  once  more,  and  happy  be  thy  toil ; 
Go  then  !  but  let  not  this  thy  smiling  friend 
Partake  thy  footsteps.     In  her  stead,  behold  ! 
With  thee  the  son  of  *  Nemesis  I  send ; 
The  fiend  abhorr'd,  whose  vengeance  takes  account    483 
Of  sacred  Order's  violated  laws. 
See  where  he  calls  thee,  burning  to  be  gone. 
Fierce  to  exhaust  the  tempest  of  his  wrath 
On  yon  devoted  head.     But  thou,  my  child. 
Control  his  cruel  phrenzy,  and  protect  490 

Thy  tender  charge;   that  when  despair  shall  grasp 
His  agonizing  bosom,  he  may  learn. 
Then  he  may  learn  to  love  thy  gracious  hand ; 
Alone  sufficient  in  the  hour  of  ill, 

To  save  his  feeble  spirit;  then  confess  493 

Thy  genuine  honours,  O  excelling  fair  ! 
When  all  the  plagues  that  wait  the  deadly  will 
Of  this  avenging  diemon,  all  the  storms 
Of  night  infernal,  serve  but  to  display 
The  energy  of  thy  superior  charms;  3U(J 

With  mildest  awe  triumphant  o'er  his  rage, 
-And  shining  clearer  in  the  horrid  gloom. 

Here  ceased  that\awful  voice,  and  soon  I  felt 
The  cloudy  curtain  of  refreshing  eve 

■■*   V.  4Si.    Xrnir/n   the  l'",:hd  abhorr'd  ice]  was  suppfWf]    to  be 
one  of  the  rate,-.     The  jtiw  of  Nomesis  htre  means  sf/icrW///.    ro. 

E 


50  THE    PLEASURES   OF 

Was  closed  once  more,  from  that  immortal  fire        505 

Sheltering  my  eyelids.     Looking  up,  I  view'd 

A  vast  gigantic  spectre  striding  on 

Through  murmuring  thunders  and  a  waste  of  clouds, 

With  dreadful  action.     Black  as  night,  his  brow 

Relentless  frowns  involved.     His  savage  limbs  510 

With  sharp  impatience  violent  he  writh'd. 

As  through  convulsive  anguish  ;  and  his  hand, 

Arm'd  with  a  scorpion-lash,  full  oft  he  raised 

In  madness  to  his  bosom  ;  while  his  eyes 

Rain'd  bitter  tears,  and  bellowing  loud  he  shook      515 

The  void  with  horror.     Silent  by  his  side 

The  virgin  came.     No  discomposure  stirr'd 

Her  features.     From  the  glooms  which  hung  around 

No  stain  of  darkness  mingled  with  the  beam 

Of  her  divine  effulgence.     Now  they  stoop  520 

L'pon  the  river-bank ;  and  now  to  hail 

His  wonted  guests,  with  eager  steps  advanced 

The  unsuspecting  inmate  of  the  shade. 

As  when  a  famish'd  wolf,  that  all  night  long 
Had  ranged  the  Alpine  snows,  by  chance  at  morn  525 
Sees  from  a  clill"  incumbent  o'er  the  smoke 
Of  some  lone  village,  a  neglected  kid 
That  strays  along  the  wild  for  herb  or  spring ; 
Down  from  the  winding  ridge  he  sweeps  amain. 
And  thinks  he  tears  him  :  so  with  tentbld  rage,         530 
The  monster  sprung  remorseless  on  his  prey. 
Amazed  the  stripling  stood  :  with  pantuig  breast 
F'cebly  he  pour'd  the  lamentable  wail 
Of  helpless  consternation,  struck  at  once. 
And  rooted  to  the  grouiid.     The  queen  beheld  535 

His  terror,  and  with  looks  of  tenderest  care 


liMAGl  NATION.    BOOK   II.  oi 

Advanced  to  save  him.     Soon  the  tyrant  felt 
Her  awful  power.     His  keen,  tempestuous  arm 
Hung  nerveless,  nor  descended  where  his  rage 
Had  aim'd  the  deadly  blow  :  then  dumb  retired        540 
With  sullen  rancour.     Lo  !  the  Sovran  Maid 
Folds  with  a  mother's  arms  the  fainting  boy. 
Till  life  rekindles  in  his  rosy  cheek ; 
Then  grasps  his  hand  and  cheers  him  with  her  tongue. 
O  wake  thee,  rouse  thy  spirit !     Shall  the  spite    5i5 
Of  yon  tormentor  thus  appal  thy  heart. 
While  I,  thy  friend  and  guardian,  am  at  hand 
To  rescue  and  to  heal  ?     O  let  thy  soul  l 

Remember,  what  the  will  of  Heaven  ordains    I 
Is  ever  good  for  all;  and  if  for  all,  550 

Then  good  for  thee.     Nor  only  by  the  warmth 
And  soothing  sunshine  of  delightful  things. 
Do  minds  grow  up  and  flourish  :  oft  misled 
By  that  bland  light,  the  young  unpractised  views 
Of  reason  wander  through  a  fatal  road,  555 

Far  from  their  native  aim  :  as  if  to  lie 
Inglorious  in  the  fragrant  shade,  and  wait 
The  soft  access  of  ever-circling  joys. 
Were  all  the  End  of  Being     Ask  thyself. 
This  pleasing  error,  did  it  never  lull  5G0 

Tiiy  wishes  ?     lias  thy  constant  heart  refused 
The  silken  fetters  of  delicious  ease  ? 
Or  when  divine  Euphrosyne'  appear'd 
Within  this  dwelling,  did  not  thy  desires 
Hang  far  below  the  measure  of  thy  fate,  565 

Which  I  reveal'd  before  thee  ?  and  thy  eyes, 
Impatient  of  my  counsels,  turn  away 
To  drink  the  soft  effusion  of  her  smiles  ? 


b2  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

Know  then,  for  this  the  everlasting  Sire 
•;  Deprives  thee  of  her  presence,  and  instead,  570 

O  wise  and  still  benevolent !  ordains 
This  horrid  visage  hither  to  pursue 
My  steps  j  that  so  thy  nature  may  discern 
Its  real  good,  and  what  alone  can  save 
lliy  feeble  spirit  in  this  hour  of  ill  575 

I'runi  folly  and  despair.     O  yet  beloved  ! 
Let  not  this  headlong  terror  quite  o'erwhelm 
Thy  scatter^  powers ;  nor  fatal  deem  the  rage 
Of  this  tormentor,  nor  his  proud  assault. 
While  I  am  here  to  vindicate  thy  toil,  580 

Above  the  generous  question  of  thy  arm. 
Brave  by  tly  fears  and  in  tl>t/  weakness  strong, 
This  hour  he  triumphs  :  but  confront  his  might. 
And  dare  him  to  the  combat,  then  with  ease 
Disarm'd  and  quell\l,  his  fierceness  he  resigns  585 

To  bondage  and  to  scorn  :  while  thus  inured 
By  watchful  danger,  by  unceasing  toil, 
The  Immortal  Mind,  superior  to  his  fate. 
Amid  the  outrage  of  external  things, 
ViYva  as  the  solid  base  of  this  great  world,  590 

Rests  on  his  own  foundations.     Blow,  ye  winds  ! 
Ye  waves  !  ye  thunders  !  roll  your  tempest  on ; 
.Shake,  ye  old  pillars  of  the  marble  sky  ! 
Till  all  its  orbs  and  all  its  worlds  of  fire 
Be  loosen'd  from  their  seats  ;  yet  still  serene,  595 

The  unconquer'd  mind  looks  down  upon  the  wreck  ; 
And  ever  stronger  as  the  storms  advance. 
Film  through  the  closing  ruin  holds  his  way. 
Where  Nature  calls  him  to  the  destin'd  goal. 
So  spake  the  goddess  ;  while  through  all  her  frame  600 


IMAGINATION.     BOOK   II.        53 

Coelestial  raptures  flow'd,  in  every  word. 
In  every  motion  kindling  warmth  divine 
To  seize  who  listen'd.     Vehement  and  swift 
As  hghtening  fires  the  aromatic  shade 
In  .Ethiopian  fields,  the  stripling  felt  605 

Her  inspiration  catch  his  fervid  soul. 
And  starting  from  his  languor  thus  exclaim'd. 
Then  let  the  trial  come  !  and  witness  thou. 
If  terror  be  upon  me  ;  if  I  shrink 

To  meet  the  storm,  or  falter  in  my  strength  610 

When  hardest  it  besets  me.     Do  not  think 
That  I  am  fearful  and  infirm  of  soul. 
As  late  thy  eyes  beheld :  for  thou  hast  changed 
I\Ty  nature  ;  thy  commanding  voice  has  waked 
My  languid  powers  to  bear  me  boldly  on,  615 

Where'er  the  will  divine  my  path  ordains 
Through  toil  or  peril  :  only  do  not  thou 
Forsake  me ;  O  be  thou  for  ever  near. 
That  I  may  listen  to  thy  sacred  voice. 
And  guide  by  thy  decrees  my  constant  feet.  620 

But  say,  forever  are  my  eyes  bereft 

Say,  shall  the  fair  Euphuosyse'  not  once 
Appear  again  to  charm  mc  ?     Thou,  in  heaven  ! 
/O  thou  Eternal  Arbiter  of  things  ! 
■I Be  thy  great  bidding  done  :  for  who  am  I,  625 

',To  question  thy  appointment  ?     Let  the  frowns 
Of  this  avenger  every  morn  o'ercast 
The  cheerful  dawn,  and  every  evening  damp 
With  double  night  my  dwelling;   I  will  learn 
To  hail  them  both^  and  unrcpiuing  bear  630 

His  hateful  presence  ;  but  permit  my  tongue 
One  glad  request,  and  if  my  deeds  may  find 

r:  2 


5i  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

Thy  awful  eye  propitious,  O  restore 

The  rosy- featured  maid;  again  to  cheer 

This  lonely  seat,  and  bless  me  with  her  smiles.         635 

He  spoke ;  when  instant  through  the  sable  glooms 

With  which  that  furious  presence  had  involsed 

The  ambient  air,  a  flood  of  radiance  came 

Swift  as  the  lightning  flash  ;  the  melting  clouds 

I'lew  diverse,  and  amid  the  blue  serene  640 

Eui'iirosyne'  appeared.     With  sprighly  step 

The  nymph  alighted  on  the  irriguous  lawn. 

And  to  her  wondering  audience  thus  began. 

Lo  !  I  am  here  to  "answer  to  your  vows. 
And  be  the  inecting  fortunate  !  I  come  64'5 

With  joyful  tidings ;  We  shall  part  no  more— • 
Hark  !  how  the  gentle  echo  from  her  cell 
Talks  through ^he  cliffs,  and  murmuring  o'er  the  stream 
Repeats  the  accents ;  we  shall  part  no  more. 
O  my  delightful  friends  !  well-pleased  on  high         650 
The  father  has  beheld  you,  while  the  might 
Of  that  stern  foe  with  bitter  trial  proved 
Your  equal  doings;  then  for  ever  spake 
The  High  Decrke  :  that  Ihou,  ccelestial  maid  ! 
Ilowe'er  that  grisly  phantom  on  thy  steps  655 

May  sometimes  dare  intrude,  yet  never  more 
Shalt  thou,  descending  to  the  abode  of  man^ 
Alone  endure  the  rancour  of  his  arm. 
Or  leave  thy  loved  Elphkosyne'  behind. 

She  ended  ;  and  the  whole  romantic  scene  G60 

Immediate  vanish'd;  rocks,  and  woods,  and  rills. 
The  mantling  tent,  and  each  mysterious  form 
llew  like  the  pictures  of  a  morning  dream, 
Vv  hen  sun-shine  fills  the  bed.     A  while  I  stood 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK   II.  55 

Perplex'd  and  giddy ;  till  the  radiant  Power  605 

Who  bade  the  visionary  landscape  rise. 
As  up  to  him  I  turn'd,  with  gentlest  looks 
Preventing  my  enquiry,  thus  began. 

There  let  thy  soul  acknowledge  its  complaint 
How  blind,  how  impious  !  There  behold  the  ways    670 
Of  Heaven's  eternal  destiny  to  man. 
For  ever  just,  benevolent  and  wise: 
That  Virtue's  awful  steps,  howe'cr  pursued 
By  vexing  fortune  and  intrusive  pain 
Should  never  be  divided  from  her  chaste,  675 

Her  fair  attendant.  Pleasure.     Need  I  urge 
Thy  tardy  thought  through  all  the  various  round 
Of  this  existence,  that  thy  softening  soul 
At  length  may  learn  what  energy  the  hand 
Of  virtue  mingles  in  the  bitter  tide  6S0 

Of  passion  swelling  with  distress  and  pain. 
To  mitigate  the  sharp  with  gracious  drops 
Of  cordial  pleasure  .'  Ask  f  the  faithful  youth. 
Why  the  cold  urn  of  her  whom  long  he  loved. 
So  often  fills  his  arms  ;  so  often  draws  685 

His  lonely  footsteps  at  the  silent.hour. 
To  pay  the  mournful  tribute  of  his  tears  ? 
O  !  he  will  tell  thee,  that  the  wealth  of  worlds 
Should  ne'er  seduce  his  bosom  to  forego 
That  sacred  hour,  when  stealing  from  the  noise        690 
Of  care  and  envy,  sweet  remembrance  sooths 
With  virtue's  kindest  looks  his  aking  breast. 
And  turns  his  tears  to  rapture. —  Ask  t  the  crowd 
Which  flies  imjjatient  from  the  village-walk 
To  chmb  the  neighljourmg  clills,  when  far  below     695 
^  Book  II,  line  614.     +  Hook  II,  line  624. 


56  THE   PLEASURES    OF 

The  cruel  winds  have  hurl'd  upon  the  coast 

Some  helpless  bark  :  while  sacred  Pity  melts 

The  general  eye,  or  Terror's  icy  hand 

Smiles  their  distorted  limbs  and  horrent  hair  ; 

While  every  mother  closer  to  her  breast  700 

Catches  her  child,  and  pointing  where  the  waves 

Foam  through  the  shatter'd  vessel,  shrieks  aloud 

As  one  poor  wretch  who  spreads  his  piteous  arms 

For  succour,  swallow'd  by  the  roaring  surge  ; 

As  now  another,  dash'd  against  the  rock,  705 

Drops  lifeless  down.  *  O  !  deemest  thou  indeed 

No  kind  endearment  here  by  Nature  given 

To  mutual  terror  and  Compassion's  tears  r 

No  sweetly-melting  softness  which  attracts. 

O'er  all  that  edge  of  pain  the  social  powers,  7 10 

To  this  their  proper  action  and  their  end  ? 

—Ask  t  thy  own  heart;  when  at  the  midnight  hour. 

Slow  through  that  studious  gloom  thy  pausing  eye 

Led  by  the  glimmering  taper  moves  around 

The  sacred  volumes  of  the  dead,  the  songs  715 

Of  Grecian  bards,  and  records  writ  by  fame 

For  Grecian  heroes,  where  the  Present  Power 

Of  heaven  and  earth  surveys  the  immortal  page 

Even  as  a  Father  ;  blessing  while  he  reads 

The  praises  of  his  son.     If  then  thy  soul,  720 

Spurning  the  yoke  of  these  inglorious  days. 

Mix  in  their  deeds  and  kindle  with  their  flame  ; 

Say,  when  the  prospect  blackens  on  thy  view. 

When  rooted  from  the  base,  heroic  states 

iMourn  in  the  dust  and  tremble  at  the  frown  725 

Of  curst  ambition  ;  when  the  pious  i  band 

•  Bwk  11,  line  637.  f  Boole  II,  Vne  643. 

t  V.  726.  The  sacred  battalion  of  Thebes  at  the  battle  of  Ckocron^a- 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK    11.  57 

Of  youths  who  fought  for  freedom  and  their  sires. 

Lie  side  by  side  in  gore  ;  when  ruffian  pride 

Usurps  the  throne  of  justice,  turns  the  pomp 

Of  public  power,  the  majesty  of  rule,  730 

The  sword,  the  laurel,  and  the  purple  robe. 

To  slavish  empty  pageants,  to  adorn 

A  tyrant's  walk,  and  glitter  in  the  eyes 

Of  such  as  bow  the  knee  ;  when  *  honour'd  urns 

Of  patriots  and  of  chiefs,  the  awful  bust  735 

And  storied  arch,  to  glut  the  coward-rage 

Of  regal  envy,  strew  the  public  way 

With  hallow'd  ruins ;  when  the  Muse's  haunt. 

The  marble  porch  where  wisdom  wont  to  talk 

With  Socrates  or  Tully,  hears  no  more,  740 

Save  the  hoarse  jargon  of  contentious  monks> 

Or  female  superstition's  midnight  prayer; 

When  ruthless  rapine  from  the  liand  of  Time 

Tears  the  destroying  scythe,  with  surer  blow 

To  sweep  the  works  of  glory  from  their  ba^e  j  7-1.5 

Till  desolation  o'er  the  grass-grown  street 

FA'pands  his  raven-wings,  and  up  the  wall. 

Where  f  senates  once  the  price  of  monarchs  tlcom'd, 

Hisses  the  gliding  snake  through  hoary  weeds 

That  clasp  the  mouldering  column  ;  thus  defaced,   7,iO 

Thus  widely  niourufnl,  when  the  prospect  thrills 

Thy  beating  bosom,  when  the  patriot's  tear 

Starts  from  thine  eye,  and  thy  extended  arm 

In  fancy  hurls  the  tliwndtrbolt  of.lovii 

To  fire  the  impious  wrealh  on  X  Philip's  brow,  755 

I  \    -y,    /'W/(/..]     Til-  Mu'.c'!onui-i. 


58  THE    PLEASURES    OF&e. 

Or  dash  Octavius  from  the  trophied  car; 

Say,    does*  thy  secret  soul  repine  to  taste 

The  big  distress  ?  Or  would'st  thou  then  exchange 

Those  heart-ennobhng  sorrows  for  the  lot 

Of  him  who  sits  amid  the  gaudy  herd  760 

Of  mute  barbarians  bending  to  his  nod. 

And  bears  aloft  his  gold-invested  front 

And  says  within  himself,  "  I  am  a  king, 

"And  wherefore  should  the  clamorous  voice  of  woe 

"Intrude  upon  mine  ear  r — "  The  baleful  dregs       765 

Of  these  late  ages,  this  inglorious  draught 

Of  servitude  and  folly,  have  not  yet. 

Blest  be  the  Eternal  Ruler  of  the  world  ! 

Defiled  to  such  a  depth  of  sordid  shame 

The  native  honours  of  the  human  soul,  770 

Nor  so  effaced  the  image  of  its  Sire. 

*  Booi  II,  line  691. 


THE  END  OF  BOOK  THE  SECOND. 


THE 
PLEASURES 

OF 

IMAGINATION. 

BOOK    THE    THIRD. 

ARGUMENT. 

PLEASURE  in  obsening  the  tempers  and  manners  of  men,  even 
where  vicious  or  absurd.  The  origin  of  vice,  from  false  repre- 
sentations of  the  fancy,  producing  false  opinions  concerning  good 
and  evil.  Inquiry  into  ridicule.  The  general  soui-ces  of  ridicule 
in  the  minds  and  characters  of  men,  enimierated.  Final  cause 
of  the  senie  of  ridicule.  1  lie  resemblance  of  certain  aspects  of 
inanimate  things  to  the  sensations  and  properties  of  the  mind. 
The  operations  of  the  mind  in  the  production  of  the  works  of 
imagination,  described.  Tlie  secondary  pleasure  from  imitation. 
The  benevolent  order  of  the  world  illustrated  in  the  arbitrary 
connexion  of  the.*e  pleasures  with  the  objects  which  excite, them. 
The  nature  and  conduct  of  taste.  Concluding  with  an  account 
of  the  natural  and  moral  advantages  resulting  from  a  sent^ible 
and  well-formed  imagi.iation, 

^^  HAT  wonder  therefore,  since  the  omleariiig  tie.< 
Ofpasiion  link  the  itnivcrsal  kind 
Of  man  so  close,  what  wonder  if  to  search 
This  common  nature  through  the  various  change 
Of  iex,  and  age,  and  fortune,  and  tiie  frame  .> 

<^)f  each  peculiar,  draw  the  hu'^y  mind 
With  unrebi.>ted  charms  r  The  spacious  wc.^t. 
And  all  the  teeming-  regions  of  the  south 
Hold  not  a  (juarry,  to  the  curious  flight 


60  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

Of  knowledge,  half  so  tempting  or  so  fair,  19 

As  man  to  man.     Nor  only  where  the  smiles 

Of  love  invite ;  nor  only  where  the  applause 

Of  cordial  honour  turns  the  attentive  eye 

On  virtue's  graceful  deeds.     For  since  the  course 

Of  things  external  acts  in  different  ways  15 

On  human  apprehensions,  as  the  hand 

Of  Nature  temper'd  to  a  different  frame 

Peculiar  minds  ;  so  haply  where  *  the  powers 

*  V.  18.  zvhere  the  poners' 

Of  fancy,  &c.'J  The  influence  of  tlie  imagination  on  the 
conduct  of  life,  is  one  of  Uie  most  important  points  in  moral  phi- 
losophy. It  were  easy  by  an  induction  of  facts  to  prove  tiiat  the 
imagination  directs  almost  all  the  passions,  and  mixes  with  almost 
every  circumstance  of  action  or  pleasure.  Let  any  man,  even  of 
the  coldest  head  and  soberest  industrj',  analyse  the  idea  of  what  he 
<;alls  his  interest;  he  will  tind  that  it  consists  chietly  of  certain  de- 
ijrees  of  decency,  beauty,  and  order,  ■variously  combined  into  one 
>ystem,  the  idol  which  he  seeks  to  enjoy  by  labour,  hazard,  and 
self-denial.  It  is  on  this  account  of  the  last  consequence  to  regulate 
these  images  by  the  standard  of  nature  and  the  general  good ;  other- 
wise the  imagination,  by  heightening  some  objects  beyond  their  real 
excellence  and  beauty,  or  by  representing  otiiers  in  a  more  otlious 
or  terrible  shape  than  they  deserve,  may  of  course  engage  us  in 
pursuits  utterly  inconsistcBt  with  the  moral  order  of  things. 

If  it  be  objected  that  this  account  of  things  supposes  the  passions 
to  be  merely  accidental,  whereas  there  appears  in  some  a  natural 
and  hereditary  disposition  to  certain  passions  prior  to  all  circum- 
stances of  education  or  fortune;  it  ma)^  be  answ-ercd,  that  though 
no  man  is  b)rn  ambUious  or  a  miser,  yet  he  may  inherit  from  his 
parents  a  pecidiar  temper  or  complexion  of  mind,  which  shall  ren- 
der his  imagination  more  liable  to  be  struck  with  some  particular 
objects,  consequently  dispose  him  to  form  opinions  of  gix)d  and  ill, 
ami  entertain  passions  of  a  particular  turn.  Sjine  men,  for  instance, 
by  the  original  frame  of  their  minds,  are  more  deligi.tcd  with  the 
vast  and  magnilicent,  others  on  the  contrary  with  the  elegant  and 
gentle  aspects  of  nature.  And  it  is  very  remarkable,  that  the  dis 
position  f)f  the  moral  powers  is  always  similar  to  this  of  tl.e  imagin- 
.idon  ;  that  those  who  afc  most  inclined  to  admire  prodigious  and 
sublinie  objects  in  tlic  physical  world,  are  also  most  inclined  to  .ip- 
laiid  exranples  of  fortitude  and  heroic  virtue  in  the  moral.  While 
tlKjse  who  are  charmed  rather  with  the  delicuci/  and  s-^-eeinpss  of  co- 
lours, and  forms,  and  sounds,  never  fail  in  like  manner  to  yield  the 
preference  to  the  softer  scenes  of  virtue  and  the  «ympatliies  of  a  do- 
inestic  l:fe.     And  this  is  sulRcient  to  aceo-.mt  for  the  objection. 


1 M  AGINATION.    BOOK  III.         Gl 

Of  fancy  neither  lessea  nor  enlarge  ( 

The  images  of  things,  but  paint  in  all  20 

Their  genuine  hues,  the  features  whicli"  they  wore 

In  Nature ;  there  opinion  will  be  true. 

And  action  right ;  fivir  *  action  treads  the  path 

In  which  Opinion  says  he  follows  good. 

Or  flies  from  evil ;  and  Opinion  gives  25 

Report  of  good  or  evil,  as  the  scene 

Was  drawn  by  Fancy,  lovely  or  deform'd  : 

Thus  her  report  can  never  there  be  true 

Where  Fancy  cheats  the  intellectual  eye. 

With  glaring  colours  and  distorted  lines.         ,  30 

Is  there  a  man,  who  at  the  sound  of  death. 

Sees  ghastly  shapes  of  terror  conjured  up. 

And  black  before  him ;  nought  but  death-bed  groans. 

And  fearful  prayers,  and  plunging  from  the  brink 

Of  light  and  being,  down  the  gloomy  air,  3j 

An  unknown  depth  ?     Alas  !  in  such  a  mind. 

If  no  bright  forms  of  excellence  attend 

The  iaiage  of  his  country  ;  nor  the  pomp 

Of  sacred  senates,  nor  the  guardian  voice 

Among  the  ancient  philosophers,  thoiig]i  we  have  several  hints 
concerning  this  influence  of  the  imagination  upon  morals  among 
the  remains  of  the  Socratic  school,  yet  the  S/oics  were  the  first  wlio 
paid  it  a  due  attention.  Zeno,  their  founder,  thought  it  impossihle 
to  prcser%e  any  tolerable  regularity  in  life,  without  frequently  in- 
specting those  pictures  or  appearances  of  things,  which  tlie  iuia^'n- 
ation  offers  to  tlie  mind /'D/og.  /^/eV/.  J.  \ii.)  The  meditations  of 
.\T.  Aurelius,  and  th<;  discourses  of  I'.jnctelus,  are  full  of  the  same 
:-(ntiment;  insomuch  that  the  latter  makes  the  Y^^nai^  oW  ch, 
<Pi<.-/]tx.crtxv,  or  right  niann^xmciit  of  (he  fancies,  the  only  thing  for 
which  we  are  accountable  to  providence,  and  witliout  wh.icli  a  man 
is  no  other  than  stupid  or  frantic.  Arriuv.  1.  i.  c.  12.  &.  1  ii.  c.  22. 
Sf-e  also  the  Cfwraclciu/ir.^,  vol.  i.  from  p.  31. j,  to  521.  where  this 
Stoic'il  d'jctrine  is  embellished  with  all  the  ehgnnce  and  graces  of 
Plalv. 

*  Bjok  II,  llneM9. 

¥ 


62  THE  PLEASURES  OF 

Of  Justice  on  her  throne,  nor  aught  that  wakes  4Q 

The  conscious  bosom  with  a  patriot's  flame ; 
M'ill  not  Opinion  tell  him,  that  to  die. 
Or  stand  the  *  hazard,  is  a  greater  ill 
Than  to  betray  his  country  ?     Anu  in  act 
Will  he  not  chuse  t©  be  a  wretch  and  live  ?  45 

Here  vice  begins  thtn.     From  the  enchanting  cup 
Which  Fancy  holds  to  all,  the  unwary  thirst 
Of  youth  oft  swallows  a  Circasan  draught. 
That  sheds  a  baleful  tincture  o'er  the  eye 
Of  Reason,  till  no  longer  he  discerns,  59 

And  only  guides  to  err.     Then  f  revel  forth 
A  furious  band  that  spurn  him  from  the  throne; 
And  all  is  uproar.     Thus  Ambition  grasps 
Tlie  empire  of  the  soul :  thus  pale  Revenge 
Unsheaths  her  murderous  dagger ;  and  the  hands     '55 
Of  Lust  and  Rapine,  with  unholy  arts. 
Watch  to  o'erturn  the  barrier  of  the  laws 
That  keeps  them  from  their  prey  :  thus  all  the  plagues 
The  wicked  bear,  or  o'er  the  trembling  scene 
The  tragic  muse  discloses,  under  shapes  60 

Of  honour,  safety,  pleasure,  ease  or  pomp. 
Stole  first  into  the  mind.     Yet  not  by  all 
Those  lying  forms  which  Fancy  in  the  brain 
Engenders,  are  the  kindling  passions  driven. 
To  guilty  deeds  ;  nor  Reason  bound  in  chains,  Gj 

That  Vice  alone  may  lord  it ;  t  oft  adorn'd 
With  solemn  pageants.  Felly  mounts  his  throne. 
And  plays  her  idiot-anticks,  like  a  queen. 
A  thousand  garbs  she  wears ;   a  thousand  ways 
She  wheels  her  giddy  empire. — Lo  !  thus  far  70 

•  Booh  IF,  line  457.     f  Book  II,    line  -470.    +  Book  II,  line  487. 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK    III.         63 

With  bold  adventure,  to  the  Mantuan  lyre 

I  sing  of  Nature's  charms,  and  touch  well-pleased 

A  stricter  note  :  now  haply  must  my  song 

Unbend  her  serious  measure,  and  reveal 

In  lighter  strains,  how  *  Folly's  aukward  arts  75 

Excite  impetuous  laughter's  gay  rebuke  ; 

The  sportive  province  of  the  comic  Muse. 

See  !   in  what  crouds  the  uncouth  forms  advance ; 
Each  would  outstrip  the  other,  each  prevent 
Our  careful  search,  and  ofier  to  your  gaze,  80 

Unasked,  his  motley  features.  Wait  awhile, 
My  curious  friends  !  and  let  us  first  arrange 
In  proper  orders  your  promiscuous  throng. 

Behold  +  the  foremost  band  ;  of  slender  thought. 
And  easy  faith;  whom  flattering  Fancy  sooths  85 

With  lying  spectres,  in  themselves  to  view 
Illustrious  forms  of  Excellence  and  Good, 
That  scorn  the  mansion.     With  exulting  hearts 
They  spread  their  spurious  treasures  to  the  sun. 
And  bid  the  world  admire  !  but  chief  the  glance        90 
Of  wishful  envy  draws  their  joy  bright  eyes, 
And  lifts  with  self-applause  each  lordly  brow. 
In  number  boundless  as  the  blooms  of  spring, 

•  V.  T.).  — ko-^'  folhfs  auktcard  art",  &.C.]  NotHitlistaiidiiig  the 
gpncral  infliu-iice  of  ridicule  on  private  ami  civil  lift',  as  well  as  on 
Iiariiiiig  anil  the  sciences,  it  has  been  almo.-t  constantly  neglecti.tl 
or  niisrcprp.sfntcd,  by  divines  esf)ccially.  The  manner  of  treating 
th<:se  sutijccis  in  the  scienre  of  human  nature,  siioiihl  be  prircisely 
the  same  as  in  natural  pliil>jso|i)iy;  from  particular  facts  t<>  investi- 
gate the  stilted  order  in  which  tiiey  appear,  and  then  apply  the  sjen- 
cral  law,  thus  iliscovereil,  to  the  explication  of  other  appearances 
and  the  improvement  of  useful  art«. 

■\\'.  84.  Behold  the  fore moit  band,  &c.]  The  first  and  most 
general  wjiirce  of  ridicule  in  the  characters  of  men,  is  vanity,  or 
»ielf-applauM;  for  some  desirable  cpiality  or  poi;ies?ion  which  evident- 
]y  d'Hjs  not  belong  to  those  who  assume  it. 


fiJ.  THE  PLEASURES   OF 

Behold  their  glaring  idols,  empty  shades 
By  Fancy  gilded  o'er,  and  then  set  up  95 

For  adoration.     Some  in  learning's  garb. 
With  formal  band,  and  sable-cinctur'd  gown. 
And  rags  of  mouldly  volumes.     Some  elate 
With  martial  splendor,  steely  pikes,  and  swords 
Of  costly  frame,  and  gay  Phoenician  robes  lOd 

Inwrought  with  flowery  gold,  assume  the  port 
Of  stately  valour  :  listening  by  his  side 
There  stands  a  female  form  ;  to  her,  with  looks 
Of  earnest  import,  pregnant  with  amaze, 
He  talks  af  deadly  deeds,  of  breaches,  storms,  105 

And  sulphurous  mines,  and  ambush :  then  at  once 
Breaks  tff,  and  smiles  to  see  her  look  so  pale. 
And  asks  some  wondering  question  of  her  fears. 
Others  of  graver  mien  ;  behold,  adorn  d 
With  holy  ensigns,  how  sublime  they  move,  110 

And  bending  oft  their  sanctimonious  eyes 
Take  homage  of  the  simple-minded  throng; 
Ambassadors  of  heaven  !   Nor  much  unlike 
Is  he  whose  visage,  in  the  lazy  mist 
That  mantles  every  feature,  hides  a  brood  1 1 5 

Of  politic  conceits  ;  of  whispers,  nods, 
And  hints  deep  omen'd  with  unwieldiy  schemes, 
And  dark  portents  of  state.     Ten  thousand  more. 
Prodigious  habits  and  tumultuous  tongues. 
Pour  dauntless  in  and  swell  the  boastful  band.  120 

Then  *  comes  the  second  order ;  all  w  ho  seek 

*  V.  121.  7'hen  comes  the  second  order,  &.C.3  Ridicule  from  Ihtt 
same  vanity,  where,  though  the  possession  he  real,  vf t  no  mirit 
can  arise  from  it,  because  of  some  particular  circumstances,  v.iiicli, 
though  obvious  to  the  spectator,  are  yet  o\erlooked  by  the  ridjcu. 
lous  character. 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK    III.         65 

The  debt  of  praise,  where  watchful  unbelief 

Darts  through  the  thin  pretence  her  squinting  eye 

On  some  retired  appearance  which  belies 

The  boasted  virtue,  or  annuls  the  applause  125 

That  justice  else  would  pay.     Here  side  by  side 

I  see  two  leaders  of  the  solemn  train. 

Approaching  ;  one  a  female,  old  and  grey. 

With  eyes  demure  and  wrinkle- furrow 'd  brow. 

Pale  as  the' cheeks  of  death ;  yet  still  she  stuns         130 

The  sickening  audience  with  a  nauseous  tale; 

How  many  youths  her  myrtle-chains  have  worn. 

How  many  virgins  at  her  triumphs  pined  ! 

Yet  how  resolved  she  guards  her  cautious  heart ; 

Such  is  her  terror  at  the  risks  of  love,  1 35 

And  man's  seducing  tongue  !  The  other  seems 

A  bearded  sage,  ungentle  in  his  mien. 

And  sordid  all  his  habit ;  peevish  want 

Grins  at  his  lieels,  while  down  the  gazing  throng 

He  stalks,  resounding  in  magnific  phrase  140 

The  vanity  of  riches,  the  contempt 

Of  pomp  and  power.     Be  prudent  in  your  zeal. 

Ye  grave  associates!   let  the  silent  grace 

Of  her  who  blushes  at  the  fond  regard 

Her  charms  inspire,  more  eloquent  unfold  1 1-5 

The  praise  of  spotless  honour  :  let  the  man 

Whose  eye  regards  not  his  illustrio'js  pomp 

And  ample  store,  but  as  indulgent  streams 

To  cheer  the  barren  soil,  and  spread  the  fruits 

Of  joy  ;  let  him  by  juster  measures  fix  150 

The  price  of  riches  and  the  end  of  power. 


66  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

Another  *  tribe  succeeds;  deluded  long 
By  Fancy's  dazzling  optics,  these  behold 
The  images  of  son>e  peculiar  things 
With  brighter  hues  resplendent,  and  portray 'd.         155 
With  features  nobler  far  than  e'er  adorn'd 
Their  genuine  objects.     Hence  the  fever'd  heart 
Pants  with  delirious  hope  for  tinsel  charms; 
Hence  oft  obtrusive  on  the  eye  of  scorn, 
Untimely  zeal  her  witless  pride  betrays  ;  160 

And  serious  manhood  from  the  towering  aim 
Of  wisdom,  stoops  to  emulate  the  boast 
Of  childish  toil.     Behold  yon  mystic  form, 
Eedeck'd  with  feathers,  insects,  weeds  and  shells  ! 
Not  with  intenser  view  the  Samian  sage  165 

Bent  his  fixt  eye  on  heaven's  eternal  fires. 
When  first  the  order  of  that  radiant  scene 
Swell'd  his  exulting  thought;  than  this  surveys 
A  muckworm's  entrails  or  a  spider's  fang. 
Next  him  a  youth,  with  flowers  and  myrtles  crown'd,  170 
Attends  that  virgin  form,  and  blushing  kneels. 
With  fondest  gesture  and  a  suppliant's  tongue. 
To  win  her  coy  regard  :  adieu,  for  him. 
The  dull  engagements  of  the  bustling  world  ! 
Adieu  the  sick  impertinence  of  praise  !  175 

And  hope,  and  action  !  for  with  her  alone. 
By  streams  and  shades,  to  steal  the  sighing  hours. 
Is  all  he  asks,  and  all  that  fate  can  give  ! 
Thee  too,  facetious  Momion,  wandering  here. 
Thee  dreaded  censor  !  oft  have  I  beheld  ]  80 


•  V.  ^52.  Another  tribe  succeeds,  &c.]  Ridicule  from  a  notion 
of  excellence  in  jjarti^ular  objects  disproportioned  to  their  iutrinstie 
value,  aad  ii.co'isistcat  wilh  th«  order  of  nature. 


IMAGINATION    BOOK    III.        67 

Bevvilder'd  unawares  :  alas  !  too  long 

Flush'd  with  thy  comic  triumphs  and  the  spoils 

Of  sly  derision  !  till  on  ertry  side 

Hurling  thy  random  bolts,  offended  truth 

Assign'd  thee  here  tby  station  with  the  slaves  185 

Of  FOLLY.     Thy  once  formidable  name 

Shall  grace  her  humble  records,  and  be  heard 

In  scoffs  and  mockery  bandied  from  the  lips 

Of  all  the  vengeful  brotherhood  around. 

So  oft  the  patient  victims  of  thy  scorn.  190 

But  *  now,  ye  gay  !  to  whom  indulgent  Fate, 
Of -all  the  must's  empire  hath  assign'd 
The  fields  of  Folly,  hither  each  advance 
Your  sickles;  here  the  teeming  soul  affords 
Its  richest  growth.     A  favourite  brood  appears ;       195 
In  whom  the  daemon,  with  a  mother's  joy. 
Views  all  her  charms  reflected,  all  her  cares 
At  full  repay'd.     Ye  most  illustrious  band  ! 
Who,  scorning  Reason's  tame,  pedantic  rules. 
And  Order's  vulgar  bondage,  never  meant  200 

For  souls  sublime  as  yours,  with  generous  zeal 
Pay  Vice  the  reverence  Virtue  long  usurp'd. 
And  yield  Deformity  the  fond  applause 
Which  Beauty  wont  to  claim  ;  forgive  my  song. 
That  for  the  blushing  diffidence  of  youth,  205 

It  shuns  the  anequal  province  of  your  praise. 

Thus  t  far  triumphant  in  the  pleasing  guile 
Of  bland  imagination.  Folly's  train 

*  V.  191.  But  now,  yet  gay,  S^c."]  Fidiciile  from  a  notion  of 
excellence,  when  the  object  i.s  ah»'>lutely  otiious  or  contemptible. 
This  is  the  highest  degree  of  the  ridiculous;  as  in  the:  aliectaticn  of 
diseases  fir  vices. 

t  V.  207.  Thus  far  triumphant,  cVc]  Ridicule  from  false  shame 
or  groundless  fear. 


C8  THEPLEASURESOF 

Have  dared  our  search  :  but  now  a  dastard-kind 

Advance  reluctant,  and  with  faltering  feet  210 

Shrink  from  the  gazer's  eye  :  enfeebled  hearts 

Whom  Fancy  chills  with  visionary  fears. 

Or  bends  to  servile  tameness  with  conceits 

Of  shame,  of  evil,  or  of  base  defect 

Fantastic  and  delusive.     Here  the  slave  1 15 

Who  droops  abash'd  when  sullen  pomp  surveys 

His  humbler  habit ;  here  the  trembling  wretch 

Unnerved  and  struck  with  terror's  icy  bolts ; 

Spent  in  weak  wailings,  drown'd  in  shameful  tears. 

At  every  dream  of  danger  :  here  subdued  220 

By  frontless  laughter  and  the  hardy  scorn 

Of  old,  unfeeling  vice,  the  abject  soul. 

Who  blushing  half  resigns  the  candid  praise 

Of  temperance  and  honour  ;  half  disowns 

A  freeman's  hatred  of  tyrannic  pride  ;  225 

And  hears  with  sickly  smiles  the  venal  mouth 

With  foulest  licence  mock  the  patriot's  name. 

Last  *  of  the  motley  bands,  on  whom  the  pov.  er 
Of  gay  derision  bends  her  hostile  aim. 
Is  that,  where  shameful  Ignorance  presides.  230 

Beneath  her  sordid  banners,  lo  !  they  march. 
Like  blind  and  lame.     Whate'cr  their  doubtful  hands 
Attempt,  confusion  straight  appears  behind. 
And  troubles  all  the  work.     Through  many  a  maze, 
Perplcx'd  they  struggle,  changing  every  path,  235 

O'erturning  every  purpose ;  then  at  last 
Sit  dovvn  dismay 'd,  and  leave  the  entangled  scene 
For  scorn  to  sport  with.     Such  then  is  the  abode 

*  V.  228.    Last  of  the,  ^c]     Ridicule  from  the  ignorance  of 
such  things  as  our  circumstauces  require  us  to  know. 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK   III.  69 

Of  Folly  in  the  mind ;  and  such  the  shapes 

In  which  she  governs  her  obsequious  train.  2i0 

Through*  every  scene  of  Ridicule  in  things 
To  lead  the  tenor  of  my  devious  lay ; 
Through  every  swift  occasion,  which  the  hand 
Of  Laughter  points  at,  when  the  mirthful  sting 
Distends  her  sallying  nerves  and  choaks  her  tongue  j  245 
What  were  it  but  to  count  each  crystal  drop 
Which  Morning's  dewy  fingers  on  the  blooms 
Of  May  distil  ?     f  Suffice  it  to  have  said* 

*  £ooi  II,  line  503. 

f  V.248. — Suffice  it  to  have  said,  A'c]  By  comparing  these 
general  sources  of  ridicule  with  each  other,  and  examining  the  ridic- 
ulous in  other  objects,  we  may  obtain  a  general  definition  of  it, 
equally  applicable  to  every  species.  The  most  imjiortant  circum- 
stance of  this  definition  is  laid  down  in  the  lines  referred  to ;  but 
others  more  minute  we  shall  subjoin  here.  Aristotle's  account  of  the 
matter  seems  both  imperfect  and  fiilse  j  .^o  7»f  yiXo^o-.',  says  he, 
IrkV  njAfnixoi,  Ti  K.xl  ah'x^,  huovmi  xai  a  (fGapTiXov  :  the  ri- 
diculous is  some  certain  fault  or  turpitude  without  pain,  and  not  de- 
structive to  its  subject.  {Poet.  c.  5.)  For  allowing  it  to  be  true,  as 
it  is  not,  that  the  ridiculous  is  never  accompanied  with  pain,  yet 
we  might  produce  many  instances  of  such  a  fault  or  turpitude  which 
cannot  with  any  toleraljle  propriety  I>e  calle<l  ridiculous.  So  that 
the  definition  d'jes  not  distinguish  the  thing  designed.  Nay  farther; 
even  when  we  perceive  the  turpitude  tpading  to  the  destruction  of 
its  subiect,  we  may  still  be  sensible  of  a  ridiculous  appearance,  till 
tiie  ruin  become  imminent,  and  the  keener  bcnsations  of  pity  or  tcr- 
ror  banish  the  ludicrous  apprehension  from  our  m'nds.  For  the 
sensation  of  ridicule  is  not  a  bare  perception  of  the  agreement  or 
disagreement  of  ideas  ;  but  a  passion  or  emotion  of  the  mind  con- 
sequential to  that  perception.  !so  that  the  mind  may  perceive  the 
agreement  or  disagreement,  and  yel  not  feel  the  ridiculous,  because 
it  is  engrossed  by  a  more  violent  emotion.  Thus  it  hap|)€ns  that 
some  men  think  those  objects  ridiculous,  to  whicli  othcr^^  cannot  en- 
dure to  apply  the  name;  because  in  them  they  exeite  a  much  in- 
tenser  and  more  imp'jrtint  feeling.  And  this  dilierence,  among 
other  causes,  has  broiijiit  a  good  deal  of  Confusion  into  this  ques- 
tion. 

7'hat  xthich  makes  ohji'.cis  ndiculuHS,  it  soine  ground  of  adniirati*n 
or  esteem  connected  mtli  othar  more  general  circumslanccs  compara- 
tively worthless  or  deformed  ;  or  it  is  some  circumstance  of  turpitude  oi 
deformity  connected  •^■ilh  i<;I:af  is  general  excellent  or  licauttful ;  .';,- 


70  THE   PLEASURES    OF 

Where'er  the  power  of  Ridicule  displays 

Her  quaint-eyed  visage,  some  incongruous  form,       250 

Some  stubborn  dissonance  of  things  combined. 

Strikes  on  the  quick  observer  :   whether  pomp. 

Or  praise,  or  beauty,  mix  their  partial  claim 

Where  sordid  fJishions,  where  ignoble  deeds, 

Wherfe  foul  deformity  are  wont  to  dwell  j  255 

inconsistent  projierties  existing  cither  in  the  objects  themselves,  or  in 
the  apprehension  of  the  person  to  whom  they  relate ;  belonging  always 
to  the  same  order  or  class  of  being ;  implying  sentiment  or  design  ,• 
and  exciting  no  acute  or  vehement  emotion  of  the  heart. 

To  prove  the  several  parts  of  this  definition:  The  appearance  of 
excellence  or  beauty  connected  with  a  general  condition  comparatively 
sordid  or  deformed,  is  ridiculous :  for  instance,  jximpons  pretensions 
of  uisdom  joined  with  ignorance  and  folly  in  the  Socrates  of  Aristo- 
phanes ;  and  the  ostentations  of  military  glory  with  cowardice  and 
stupiJity  in  the  Thraso  of  Terence. 

the  appearnce  of  deformity  or  turpitude  in  conjunction  with  what  is 
in  general  excellent  or  venerable,  is  also  ridiculous :  for  instance,  the 
ptrsonal  weaknesses  of  a  magistrate  appearing  in  the  solemn  and 
public  functions  of  his  station. 

The  incongruous  properties  may  either  exist  in  the  objects  them' 
selves,  or  in  apprehcmicn  of  the  person  to  whom  they  relate :  in  the 
las;,  nentioned  instance,  the}'  both  exist  in  the  objecls;  in  the  in- 
Etai'Ces  from  Aristophanes  and  Terence,  one  of  them  is  objective  and 
viti),  the  other  only  founded  in  the  apprehension  of  the  ridiculous 
cliaracter. 

The  inconsident  properties  must  belong  to  the  same  order  or  class  (if 
being.  A  coxcomb  in  fine  clothes,  bedaubed  by  accident  in  foul 
wvather,  is  a  ridiculous  object ;  because  his  general  apprehension 
of  excellence  and  esteem  is  referred  to  the  splendour  and  cxpence  of 
liii  dress.  A  man  of  sense  and  merit,  in  the  same  circumstances, 
is  i!ot counted  ridiculous;  because  the  general  ground  of  excellence 
and  esteem  in  liim,  \%,  both  in  fact  and  in  liis  own  apprehension,  of 
a  \ery  difl'erent  species. 

t'rcery  ridiculous  object  implies  sentiment  or  dcsii^n.  A  column 
placed  by  an  architect  without  a  capital  or  base,  is  lauglied  at :  the 
same  column  in  a  ruin  causes  a  very  difl'erent  sensation. 

Aiid  lastly,  the  ociurcnce  must  excite  no  acute  or  vehement  emotion 
of  the  heart,  such  as  terror,  pity,  or  indignation ;  fir  in  that  case, 
a-*  was  vjb.-erved  above,  the  mind  is  not  at  leisure  to  contemplate  the 
ridic;;hus. 

^Vhethcrany  appearance  not  ridiculous  be  involved  in  this  de- 
scription, and  whether  it  comprehend  evcrj'  species  and  form  of  the 
ri:licuIo;:s,  must  be  dctsniiitied  by  repeated  applications  of  it  t* 
particular  initauces. 


IMAGINATION.     BOOK    lU.        71 

Or  whether  these  with  violation  loath'd. 
Invade  resplendent  ponmp's  imperious  mien. 
The  charms  of  beauty  or  the  boast  of  praise. 
Ask  *  we  for  what  lair  end,  the  Almighty  Sike 

*  Book  II,  line  523. 
•  259.  Ask  lie  for  icJiat  fair  end,  &c.]  SiHce  it  is  beyond  all 
contradiction  evident  that  we  have  a  natural  sense  or  feeling  of  the 
ridiculous,  and  since  so  gix)d  a  reason  may  be  assigned  to  justify 
the  Supreme  Being  for  besto\v  in^  it;  one  cannot  without  astonish- 
ment reflect  on  the  conduct  of  those  men  v. ho  imagine  it  is  for  the 
service  of  true  religion  to  vilify  and  blacken  it  without  distinction, 
aud  endeavour  to  persuade  us  that  it  is  never  applied  but  in  a  bad 
cause.  Ridicule  is  not  concerned  with  mere  speculative  truth  or 
felsehixxl.  It  is  not  in  abstract  propositions  or  theorem?,  but  in 
actions  and  pasbions,  gon<l  and  evil,  beauty  and  deformity,  that  wc 
find  materials  for  it ;  and  all  these  terras  are  relative,  implying  ap- 
pn»bation  or  blame.  To  ask  then  whether  ridicule  he  a  tat  of  truth, 
is,  in  other  words,  to  ask  whether  that  which  is  ridiculous  can  be 
morally  true,  can  be  just  and  becoming;  or  whether  that  which  is 
just  and  becoming  can  be  ridiculous.  A  question  that  does  not  de- 
serve a  serious  answer.  For  it  is  most  evident,  that,  as  in  a  meta- 
physical propooition  offered  to  the  understanding  for  its  assent,  the 
faculty  of  reason  examir.i-s  t'.e  terms  of  the  proposition,  and  finding 
one  i<loa,  which  was  supposed  equal  to  another,  to  be  in  fact  une- 
qual,  of  consequence  rejects  the  proposition  as  a  falsehood  ;  fo,  in 
objects  offered  to  the  mind  for  its  esteem  or  applause,  the  faculty  of 
ridicule,  finding  an  incongruity  in  the  claim,  urges  tiie  mind  to  re- 
ject it  with  laugliter  and  contempt.  When  therefore  we  obferve 
such  a  claim  obtruded  upon  mankind,  and  the  inconsistent  circum- 
stances carefully  concealed  from  the  eye  ofthe  publii;,  it  is  our  bu- 
siness, if  the  matter  be  of  importance  to  society,  to  drr.g  oi;t  those 
■  latent  circumstances,  and,  by  setting  them  in  full  view,  to  con- 
vince the  world  how  ridiculuits  the  claim  is:  and  thus  a  double  ad- 
vantage is  gained;  for  we  both  detect  the  moral  falsehood  sooner 
than  in  the  way  of  sj)eculative  inquirv-,  and  impress  the  minds  of 
men  witii  a  stronger  sense  of  the  vanity  and  erior  of  its  aiithors. 
And  this  and  no  more  is  meant  by  tlie  application  of  ridicule. 

But  it  is  .<aid,  tiie  practice  is  dangerous,  and  may  b-*  inconsistent 
with  the  rctanl  Wt-  owe  to  objects  of  real  dignity  and  excelifncc 
I  answer,  the  practice  fairly  managed  can  never  be  dangerous;  men 
may  be  di>honest  in  oiUruding  cireumstanres  f  m  iun  to  the  object, 
and  we  may  I»e  inadvertent  in  allowing  those  cin-umstances  to  im- 
pose ujjon  us:  but  t!ie  s<nsc  of  ridicule  always  judges  right,  'i'he 
Socrates  of  Arisiif!:anrs  is  as  trnly  ri^'TuIous  a  character  as  c^er  was 
drawn: — True  ;  but  it  is  not  t!ie  ejiaracter  of  Socrates,  the  divine 
moralist  and  father  of  anci.Tif  widoin.  \V1  at  tiien?  did  t!.e  ridi- 
cule of  the  poet  hindiT  the  philosopher  from  detecting  and  disclaim- 
ing tliose  foreign  circums'.'.uces  whicli  he  hnd  faiscK  introduced  iut 


72         '     THE   PLEASURES  O^F  • 

In  mortal  boSoms  wakes  this  gay  contempt,  2(50 

ITiese  grateful  stings  of  laughter,  from  disgust 

Edilcing  pleasure  ?     *  Wherefore,  but  to  aid 

The  tardy  steps  of  reason,  and  at  once 

By  this  prompt  impulse  urge  us  to  depress 

The  giddy  aims  of  Folly  ?     Though  the  light  265 

Of  truth  slow-dawning  on  the  inquiring  mind. 

At  length  unfolds,  through  many  a  subtile  tie. 

How  these  uncouth  disorders  end  at  last 

In  public  evil !  yet  benignant  Heaven, 

Conscious  how  dim  the  dawn  of  truth  appears  270 

To  thousands;  conscious  what  a  scanty  pause 

From  labours  and  from  care,  the  wider  lot 

Of  humble  life  affords  for  studious  thought 

To  scan  the  maze  of  Nature ;  therefore  stamp'd 

The  glaring  scenes  with  characters  of  scorn,  275 

As  broad,  as  obvious,  to  the  passing  clown. 

As  to  the  letter'd  sage's  curious  eye. 

Such  are  the  various  aspects  of  the  mind- 
Some  heavenly  genius,  whose  unclouded  thoughts 
Attain  that  secret  harmony  which  blends  280 

The  tethereal  spirit  with  its  mould  of  clay ; 
O  !  teach  me  to  reveal  the  grateful  charm 
That  searchless  Nature  o'er  the  sense  of  man 

his  character,  and  thus  rcnclering  the  satirist  doubly  ridiculuus  in  his 
turn?  No;  but  it  nevertheless  had  an  ill  influence  on  liie  minds  of 
the  people.  And  so  has  the  reasoning  of  Spinoza  made  many 
atheists:  he  founded  it  indeed  on  suppositions  utterly  false;  but 
allow  him  these,  and  his  conclusions  arc  unavoidably  true.  And  if 
v,e  must  reject  the  use  of  ridicule,  because,  by  tiie  imposition  of  false 
circumstances,  things  may  be  made  to  seem  ridiculotis,  which  are 
not  so  in  themselves ;  why  we  ought  not  in  the  same  manner  to  re- 
ject the  use  of  reasoii,  because,  bj'  proceeding  on  false  principles, 
conclusions  will  appear  true  which  are  impossible  in  nature,  let  the 
\chement  and  obstinate  declaimers  against  ridicule  determine. 
*  Hvcji  II,  line  526.     . 


IMAGINATION.     BOOK   111.  73 

BifTuses,  to  behold,  in  lifeless  things,        • 

The  *  inexpressive  semblance  of  himself,  285 

Of  thought  and  passion.     Mark  the  sable  woods 

That  shade  sublime  yon  mountain's  nodding  brow  ; 

With  what  religious  awe  the  solemn  scene 

Commands  your  steps  !   as  if  the  reverend  form 

Of  Minos  or  of  Numa  should  forsake  290 

The  Elysian  seats,  and  down  the  embowering  glade. 

Move  to  your  pausing  eye  !  behold  the  expanse 

Of  yon  gay  laiKlscapc,  where  the  silver  clouds 

Flit  o'er  the  heavens  before  the  sprightly  breeze ; 

Now  their  grey  cincture  skirts  the  doubtful  sun ;      295 

Now  streams  of  splendor,  through  their  <>pening  veil 

Effulgent,  sweep  from  off  the  gilded  lawn 

The  aerial  shadows;  on  the  the  curling  brook. 

And  on  the  shady  margin's  quivering  leaves 

With  quickest  lustre  glancing  :    while  you  view        300 

The  prospect,  say,  within  your  cheerful  breast 

Plays  not  the  lively  sense  of  winning  mirth 

With  clouds  and  sun-shine  chequer'd,  while  the  round 

Of  social  converse,  to  the  inspiring  tongue 

Of  some  gay  nymph  amid  her  subject  train,  .305 

Moves  all  obsetjuious  ?  Whence  is  this  eflect. 

This  kindred  power  of  such  discordant  things  ? 

Or  flows  their  semblance  from  that  mystic  tone 

To  which  the  new-born  mind's  harmonious  powers 

At  first  were  strung?  Or  rather  from  the  links         310 

Which  artful  custom  twines  around  her  frame? 

For  when  the  diflerent  images  of  things. 
By  chance  combined,  have  struck  the  attentive  soul 

*  V.285.   The  ine.rprcsike  semblance,  &c.]    This  similitude  is  the 
tbundation  of  almost  all  the  ornaments  of  jwctic  <!!'  lion 
G 


74  THE  PLEASURES   OF 

With  deeper  impulse,  or  connected  long,  x> 

Have  drawn  her  frequent  eye  ;  howe'er  distinct       315 

The  external  scenes,  yet  oft  the  ideas  gam 

From  that  conjunction  an  eternal  tie. 

And  sympathy  unbroken.     Let  the  mind 

Recal  one  partner  of  the  various  league. 

Immediate,  lo  !  the  firm  confederates  rise,  320 

And  each  his  former  station  straight  resumes  : 

One  movement  governs  the  consenting  throng. 

And  all  at  once  with  rosy  pleasure  shine. 

Or  all  are  sadden'd  with  the  glooms  of  care. 

'Twas  thus,  if  ancient  fame  the  truth  unfold,  325 

Two  *  faithful  needles,  from  the  informing  touch 

Of  the  same  parent-stone,  together  drew 

Its  mystic  virtue,  and  at  first  conspired 

With  fatal  impulse  quivering  to  the  pole  :  32!) 

Then,  tho'  disjoined  by  kingdoms,  tho'  the  main 

Roll'd  its  broad  surge  betwixt,  and  diflerent  stars 

Beheld  their  wakeful  motions,  yet  preserved 

The  former  friendship,  and  remembcr'd  still 

The  alliance  of  their  birth:  whate'er  the  line 

Which  one  possess'd,  nor  pause,  nor  quiet  knew       355 

The  sure  associate,  ere  with  trtnibling  speed 

He  found  ils  patn  and  fix'd  unerring  there. 

Such  is  the  secret  union,  when  we  feel 

A  soj2g,  Ajioii:er,  a  mane,  at  once  restore  339 

Those  long-connected  scenes  where  first  they  moved 

The  attention  :  backward  through  her  mazy  walks 

Guidmg  the  wanton  fancy  to  her  scope, 

*  V.  3<26.  Ticn  faithful  needles,  &c.  ]  See  the  elegant  poem  re. 
cited  by  Ordinal  Bembo  in  the  chaLracter  oi  Liccretius  ;  Strada  Fro- 
lus.  vi.  Academ,  2.  c.  v. 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK   III.  75 

To  temples,  ceurts  or  fields ;  with  all  the  band 
Of  painted  forms,  of  passions  and  designs 
Attendant :  whence,  if  pleasing  in  itself,  345 

The  prospect  from'that  sweet  accession  gains 
Redoubled  influence  o'er  the  listening  mind. 

By  *  these  mysterious  ties  the  busy  power        / 
Of  memory  her  ideal  train  preserves  ( 

Entire  ;  or,  when  they  would  elude  her  watch,        350 
Reclaims  their  fleeting  footsteps  from  the  waste 
Of  dark  oblivion  ;  thus  collecting  all 
The  various  forms  of  being,  to  present. 
Before  the  curious  aim  of  mimic  art, 
Their  largest  choice  :  like  spring's  unfolded  blooms 
Exhaling  sweetness,  that  the  skilful  bee  356 

IMay  taste  at  will,  from  their  selected  spoils 
To  work  her  dulcet  food.     For  not  the  expanse 
Of  living  lakes  in  summer's  noontide  calm. 
Reflects  the  bordering  shade,  and  sun-bright  heavens 
With  fairer  semblance  ;  not  the  sculptured  gold       361 
More  faithful  keeps  the  graver's  lively  trace. 
Than  he  whose  birth  the  sister  powers  of  art 
Propitious  vicw'd,  and  from  his  genial  star 
yiied  influence  to  the  seeds  of  fancy  kind  ;  365 

Than  liis  attempered  bosom  must  preserve 
The  seal  of  Nature.     There  alone  unchanged 
Iler  form  remains.     The  balmy  walks  of  May 
There  breathe  perennial  sweets  :  the  trembling  chord 
Resounds  forever  in  the  abstracted  ear,  370 

?.Ielo<.lious  :  and  the  virgiu's  radiant  eye, 
Superior  to  disease,  to  grief,  and  time, 

•  V.  348.  By  these  mysterious  ties  &.e.  ]  The  act  of  reincmbcr- 
ioff  seems  alimrit  wholly  to  d'';)ond  on  the  association  of  iUeai.- 


7t>  THE  PLEASURES  OF 

Shines  with  unbating  lustre.     Thus  at  length 

Endow'd  with  all  that  Nature  can  bestow. 

The  child  of  Fancy  oft  in  silence  bends  37  3 

O'er  these  ntiiSt  treasures  of  his  pregnant  breast 

With  conscious  pride.     From  them  he  oft  resolves 

To  frame  he  knows  not  what  excelling  things ; 

And  win  he  knows  not  what  sublime  reward 

Of  praise  and  wonder.     By  degrees,  the  mind  iSO 

Feels  her  young  nerves  dilate  :  the  plastic  powers 

Labour  for  action  :  blind  emotions  heave 

His  bosom ;  and  with  loveliest  frenzy  caught, 

From  earth  to  heaven  he  rolls  his  daring  eye, 

I'rom  heaven  to  earth.  Anon  ten  thousand  shapes,  3S3 

Like  spectres  trooping  to  the  wizard's  call. 

Flit  swift  l)efore  him.     From  the  wo'nb  of  earth, 

I'rom  ocean's  bed  they  come  :  the  eternal  heavens 

Disclose  their  splendors,  and  the  dark  abyss 

Pours  out  her  births  unknown.     With  fixed  gnze     390 

lie  marks  the  rising  phantoms;  now  compares 

Their  different  forms  j  now  blends  them,  now  divides. 

Enlarges  and  extenuates  by  turns  j 

Opposes,  ranges  in  fantastic  bands. 

And  infinitely  varies.     Hither  now,  395 

Now  thither  fluctuates  his  inconstant  aim. 

With  endless  choice  perplex'd.     At  length  his  plan 

Begins  to  open  :  lucid  order  dawns  ; 

And  as  from  Chaos  old  the  jarring  seeds 

Of  Nature  at  the  voice  divine  repair'd  400 

Each  to  its  place,  till  rosy  earth  unveil'd 

Her  fragrant  bosom,  and  the  joyful  sun 

Sprung  up  the  blue  serene;  by  swift  degrees 

Thus  disentangled,  his  entire  design 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK   III.  77 

Emerges.     Colours  mingle,  features  join,  405 

And  lines  converge  :  the  fainter  parts  retire; 
The  fairer,  eminent  in  light  advance ; 
And  every  image  on  its  neighbour  smiles. 
A  while  he  stands,  and  with  a  father's  joy- 
Contemplates  ; — then  with  Promethean  art,  410 
Into  its  proper  vehicle  he  breathes 
The  fair  conception;  which,  embodied  thus,' 
And  permanent,  becomes  to  eyes  or  ears 
An  object  ascertain'd  :  while  thus  informed. 
The  various  organs  of  his  mimic  skill,  415 
The  consonance  of  sounds,  the  featured  rock. 
The  shadowy  picture  and  impassion'd  verse. 
Beyond  their  proper  powers  attract  the  soul 
By  that  expressive  semblance,  while  in  sight 
Of  Nature's  great  original  we  scan                              420 
The  lively  child  of  Art ;  while  line  by  line. 
And  feature  after  feature  we  refer 
To  that  sublime  exemplar  whence  it  stole 
Those  animating  charms.     Thus  Beauty's  palm 
Betwixt  them  wavering  hangs  :  applauding  Love     425 
Doubts  where  to  chuse  ;  and  mortal  man  aspires 
To  tempt  creative  praise.     As  when  a  cloud 
Of  gathering  hail  with  limpid  crusts  of  ice 
Inclosed  and  obvious  to  the  beaming  sun. 
Collects  his  large  effulgence ;  straight  the  heavens   430 
With  equal  flames  present  on  either  hand 
The  radiant  visage :  Persia  stands  at  gaze, 
Appall'd;  and  on  the  brink  of  Gan:>ts  dcubts 

*  V.  41 1.   Into  its  proper  vehicle,  &.c.  ]     This  relates  to  the  dif- 
ferent sorts  of  corporeal  mediums,  by  which  tlic  ideas  of  the  artists 
arc  rcTidered  palpable  to  «he  senses;  as  by  soimds,   in  music;  by 
lines  and  s-hadows,  in  painting;  by  diction,  in  poetry,  &c. 
G  2 


78  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

The  snowy-vested  seer,  in  Mithka's  name. 

To  wliich  the  fragrance  of  the  jouth  shall  burn,       43  5 

To  which  his  warbled  orisons  ascend. 

Such  various  bliss  the  well-tuned  heart  enjoys. 
Favoured  of  Heaven  !  while  plunged  in  sordid  cares. 
The  unfeeling  vulgar  mock  the  boon  divine  : 
And  harsh  Austerity,  from  whose  rebuke  -iW 

Young  Love  and  smiling  Wonder  shrink  away 
Abash'd  and  chill  of  heart,  with  sager  frowns 
Condemns  the  fair  enchantment.     On  my  strain. 
Perhaps  even  now,  some  cold,  fastidious  judge 
Casts  a  disdainful  eye  ;  and  calls  my  toil,  ^i5 

And  calls  the  Love  and  Beauty  which  I  sing, 
The  dream  of  Folly.     Thou,  grave  censor  !  say. 
Is  Beauty  then  a  dream,  because  the  glooms 
Of  dulness  hang  too  heavy  on  thy  sense. 
To  let  her  shine  upon  thee  .''  So  the  man  450 

Whose  eye  ne'er  open'd  on  the  light  of  heaven. 
Might  smile  with  scorn  while  raptured  vision  tells 
Of  the  gay-colour'd  radiance  flushing  bright 
O'er  all  creation.     From  the  wise  be  far 
Such  gross  unhallow'd  pride ;  nor  needs  my  song     455 
Descend  so  low  ;  but  rather  now  unfold. 
If  human  thought  can  reach,  or  words  unfold. 
By  what  mysterious  fabric  of  the  mind. 
The  deep-felt  joys  and  harmony  of  sound. 
Result  from  airy  motion  ;  and  from  shape  460 

The  lovely  phantoms  of  sublime  and  fair. 
By  what  fine  ties  hath  God  connected  things 
When  present  in  the  mind,  which  in  themselves 
Have  no  connection  ?  Sure  the  rising  sun 
O'er  the  cseralean  convex  of  the  sea,  465 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK   III.  79 

With  equal  brightness  and  with  equal  warmth 

Might  roll  bis  fiery  orb;  nor  yet  the  soul 

Thus  feel  her  frame  expanded,  and  her  powers 

Exulting  in  the  splendor  she  beholds  ;  469 

Like  a  young  conqueror  moving  through  the  pomp 

Of  some  triumphal  day.     When  join'd  at  eve. 

Soft  murmuring  streams  and  gales  of  gentlest  breath 

Melodious  Philomela's  wakeful  strain 

Attemper  ; — could  not  man's  discerning  ear 

TJirough  all  its  tones  the  sympathy  pursue,  475 

Nor  yet  this  breath  divine  of  nameless  joy 

Steal  through  his  veins  and  fan  the  awaken'd  heart. 

Mild  as  the  breeze,  yet  rapturous  as  the  song  ? 

But  were  not  Nature  still  endow'd  at  lar^e 
With  all  that  life  requires,  though  unadorn'd  480 

With  such  enchantment  >  Wherefore  then  her  form 
S«  exquisitely  fair  ?  her  breath  perfumed 
With  such  oethereal  sweetness  ?  whence  her  voice 
Inform'd  at  will  to  raise  or  to  depress 
The  impassion'd  soul  ?  and  whence  the  robes  of  light 
Which  thus  invest  her  with  more  lovely  pomp  486 

Than  fancy  can  describe  ?  Whence  but  from  thee, 
O  Source  Divine  of  ever-flowing  love  ! 
And  thy  unmeasured  goodness  ?  Not  content 
With  every  food  of  life  to  nourish  man  ;  490 

By  kind  illusions  of  the  wondering  ^ense 
Thou  makest  all  Nature  beauty  to  his  eye. 
Or  music  to  his  ear  :  well-pltased  he  scans 
Tlie  goodly  prospect,  and  with  inward  smiles. 
Treads  the  gay  verdure  of  the  painted  plain ;  495 

Beholds  the  azure  canopy  of  heaven, 
And  living  lamps,  that  over-arch  his  head 


80  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

)  With  more  than  regal  splendor ;  bends  his  ears 
To  the  full  choir  of  water,  air,  and  earth  ; 
Nor  heeds  the  pleasing  error  of  his  thought,  500 

Nor  doubts  the  paii>ted  green  or  azure  arch. 
Nor  questions  more  the  music's  mingling  sounds 
Than  space,  or  motion,  er  eternal  time  ; 
So  sweet  he  feels  their  influence  to  attract 
The  fixed  soul;  to  brighten  the  dull  glooms  505 

Of  care,  and  make  the  destin'd  road  of  life 
Delightful  to  his  feet.     So  fables  tell. 
The  adventurous  hero,  bound  on  hard  exploits. 
Beholds  with  glad  surprise,  by  secret  spells 
Of  some  kind  sage,  the  patron  of  his  toils,  510 

A  visionary  paradise  disclosed 
Amid  the  dubious  wild  :  with  streams  and  shades. 
And  airy  songs,  the  enchanted  landscape  smiles. 
Cheers  his  long  labours  and  renews  his  frame. 
l"  What  then  is  Taste,  but  these  internal  powers      515 
Active,  and  strong,  and  feelingly  alive 
To  each  fine  impulse  ?  a  discerning  sense 
Of  decent  and  sublime,  with  quick  disgust 
From  things  deformed,  or  disarrang'd>  or  gross 
In  species  ?  This,  nor  gems,  nor  stores  of  gold,         520 
Nor  purple  state,  nor  culture  can  bestow  ; 
But  God  alone,  when  first  his  active  hand 
Imprints  the  secret  bias  of  the  soul. 
He,  mighty  parent!  wise  and  just  in  all. 
Free  as  the  vital  breeze  or  light  of  heaven,  525 

Reveals  the  charms  of  Nature.    Ask  the  swain 
Who  journeys  homeward  from  a  summer-day's 
Long  labour,  why,  forgetful  of  his  toils 
And  due  repose,  be  loiters  to  behold 


IMAGINATION    BOOK    III.        81 

The  sunshine  gleaming  as  through  amber  clouds,     530 

O'er  all  the  western  sky ;  full  soon,  I  ween. 

His  rude  expression  and  untutor'd  airs. 

Beyond  the  power  of  language,  will  unfold 

The  form  of  Beauty  smiling  at  his  heart. 

How  lovely  !  how  commanding  !  But  though  heaven 

In  every  breast  hath  sown  these  early  seeds  53^ 

Of  love  and  admiration,  yet  in  vain. 

Without  fair  culture's  kind  parental  aid. 

Without  enlivening  suns,  and  genial  showers. 

And  shelter  from  the  blast,  in  vain  we  hope  540 

The  tender  plant  should  rear  its  blooming  head. 

Or  yield  the  harvest  promised  in  its  spring. 

Nor  yet  will  every  soil  with  equal  stores 

Repay  the  tiller's  labour;  or  attend 

His  will,  obsequious,  whether  to  produce  545 

The  olive  or  the  laurel.     Different  minds 

Incline  to  different  objects  :  *  one  pursues         N 

The  vast  alone,  the  wonderful,  the  wild  ; 

Another  sighs  for  harmony,  and  grace,  549 

And  gentlest  beauty.     Hence  when  lightning  fires 

The  arch  of  heaven,  and  thunders  rock  the  ground. 

When  furious  whirlwinds  rend  the  howling  air. 

And  ocean,  groaning  from  his  lowest  bed. 

Heaves  his  tempestuous  billows  to  the  sky ; 

Amid  the  mighty  uproar,  while  below  555 

The  nations  tremble,  Shakesfeare  looks  abroad 

From  some  high  clillj  superior,  and  enjoys 


V.  547, One  pursiits 

The  voit  alo'ic,  ice]    See  the  nota  to  verse  18  of  this  book. 


82  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

The  elemental  war ;  but  *  Waller  longs. 

All  on  the  margin  of  some  flowery  stream, 

To  spread  his  careless  limbs,  amid  the  cool  560 

Of  plantane  shades,  and  to  the  listening  deer 

The  tale  of  slighted  vows,  and  love's  disdain 

Resound  soft-warbling  all  the  live-long  day  : 

Consenting  Zephyr  sighs,  the  weeping  rill 

Joins  in  his  plaint,  melodious ;  mute  the  groves ;     565 

And  hill  and  dale  with  all  their  echoes  mourn. 

Such  and  so  various  are  the  tastes  of  men  ! 

Oh  blest  of  Heaven  !  whom  not  the  languid  songs 
Of  Luxury,  the  Siren  ;  not  the  bribes 
Of  sordid  Wealth,  nor  all  the  gaudy  spoils  570 

Of  pageant  Honour,  can  seduce  to  leave 
Those  ever-blooming  sweets,  which  from  the  store 
Of  Nature  fair  Imagmation  culls 
To  charm  the  enliven'd  soul !     What  though  not  all 
Of  mortal  ofl'spring  can  attain  the  heights  575 

Of  envied  life  ;  though  only  few  possess 
Patrician  treasures  or  imperial  state  j 
Yet  Nature's  care,  to  all  her  children  just. 
With  richer  treasures  and  an  ampler  state. 
Endows  at  large  whatever  happy  man  58® 

Will  deign  to  use  them.     His  the  city's  pomp. 
The  rural  honours  his  :  whatever  adorns 

'^  V,  568.     WaVer  longs,  &c.] 

O!  how  I  long  my  careless  limbs  to  lay 
Under  the  plantane  shade;  and  all  the  day 
V/ith  amorous  airs  my  fancy  entertain,  &c. 

Waller,  Battle  of  the  Suinaier-Islands,  Canto  I. 


And  ngain. 


f^  hile  in  the  pari  I  sing,  the  listening  deer 
Atic-.d  my  passion,  and  forget  to  fear,  &c. 

At  Fens-hurst. 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK  III.         83 

The  princely  dome,  the  column  and  the  arch. 

The  breathing  marbles  and  the  sculptured  gold. 

Beyond  the  proud  possessor's  narrow  claim  585 

Hi*  tuneful  breast  enjoys.     For  him  the  Spring 

Distils  her  dews,  and  from  the  silken  gem 

Its  lucid  leaves  unfolds  :  for  him,  the  hand 

Of  Autumn  tinges  every  fertile  branch 

With  blooming  gold  and  blushes  like  the  Morn  :       590 

Each  passing  Hour  sheds  tribute  from  her  wings  ; 

And  still  new  beauties  meet  his  lonely  walk. 

And  loves  unfelt  attract  him.     Not  a  breeze  * 

Flies  o'er  the  meadow,  not  a  cloud  inabibes 

The  setting  sun's  effulgence,  not  a  strain  595 

From  all  the  tenants  of  the  warbling  shade 

Ascends,  but  whence  his  bosom  can  partake 

Fresh  pleasure  unreproved  :  uor  thence  partakes 

Fresh  pleasure  only ;  for  the  attentive  mind 

By  this  harmonious  action  on  her  powers  600 

Becomes  herself  harmonious  :  wont  so  oft 

In  outward  things  to  meditate  the  charm 

Of  sacred  Order,  soon  she  seeks  at  home 

V.  39.0. Xot  a  breeze,  6)'c  ]     That  this  acconnt  may  not 

appear  rather  poetically  extraragant  than  just  in  philosophy,  it  may 
be  proper  to  produce  the  sentiment  of  one  of  the  greatest,  w  ise-t, 
and  best  of  men  on  this  head  ;  one  so  little  to  be  suspected  of  par- 
tiality in  the  case,  that  he  reckons  it  among  those  favours  for  which 
he  was  esixrially  thankful  to  the  god.^,  that  they  had  not  Mifieicd 
him  to  make  any  great  proficiency  in  the  arts  of  eloquence  apl  poe- 
try, lest  by  that  means  he  shovdd  have  b'  en  diverted  from  j  u^^;llits 
of  niore  importance  to  his  high  station.  Speaking  of  the  beau: .  of 
universal  Nature,  he  oh.sf-rves,  that  there  is  aplcaxinp;  and  graceful 
aqicct  In  every  object  we  fierccivc,  vvhen  once  we  considt  r  its  connec- 
tion wi  h  that  general  order.  He  inst.nces  in  many  things  which 
at  fir  t  »i'/ht  would  be  thought  rather  deformities,  luid  then  adds, 
that  a  ma-i  u;bu  enjoys  <i  .en.si'^Utlij  of  temper,  luilh  a  just  comprehension 
of  the  universal  order — will  disceru  many  amiable  things,  not  credible 
to  eve,  y  i.uiud,  but  to  those  alone  who  have  entered  into  an  honourubli 
familiarity  with  Saiwe  and  her  works.     M.  .Antonin.   iii.  '2. 


84  THE   PLEASURES    OF  &c. 

To  find  a  kindred  Order,  to  exert 

Within  lierself  this  elegance  of  love,  60j 

This  fair-inspired  delight :  her  temper'd  powers 

Refine  at  length,  and  every  passion  wears 

A  chaster,  milder,  more  attractive,  mien. 

But  if  to  ampler  prospects,  if  to  gaze 

On  Nature's  form,  where,  negligent  of  all  610 

These  lesser  graces,  she  assumes  the  port 

Of  that  ETERNAL  MAJESTY  that  Weigh 'd 

The  world's  foundations ;  if  to  these  the  mind 

Exalts  her  daring  eye  ;— then  mightier  far 

Will  be  the  change,  and  nobler.  Would  the  forms    6 1  a 

Of  servile  custom  cramp  her  generous  powers  ? 

Would  sordid  policies,  the  barbarous  growth 

Of  Ignorance  and  Rapine,  bow  her  down 

To  tame  pursuits,  to  indolence  and  fear  ? 

Lo  !  she  appeals  to  Nature,  to  the  winds  020 

And  rolling  waves,  the  sun's  unwearied  course, 

The  elements  and  seasons  :  all  declare 

For  what  the  eternal  maker  has  ordain'd 

The  powers  of  man  :  we  feel  within  ourselves 

His  energy  divine  :  he  tells  the  heart  625 

He  meant,  he  made  us  to  behold  and  love. 

What  HE  beholds  and  loves,  the  general  orb 

Of  life  and  being;  to  be  great  like  him. 

Beneficent  and  active.     Thus  the  men  629 

Whom  Nature's  works  can  charm  with  God  himself 

Hold  converse  ;  grow  familiar  day  by  day 

With  HIS  conceptions,  act  upon  his  plan. 

And  form  to  his,  the  relish  of  their  souls.  633 

THE  END  OF  BOOK  THE  THIRD. 


THE 


PLEASURE  S 


IMAGINATION 


A      POEM. 


ENLARGED. 


*'  TVte  child  of  Fancy  oft  in  silence  bends 

"  O'er  these  mix'd  treasures  of  his  pregnant  breast 

*'  With  conscious  pride." 


11 


86         THE    PLEASURES    OF   THE 

THE   GENERAL   ARGUMENT. 

THE  Pleasures  of  the  Imagination  proceed  either  from 
natural  objects,  as  from  a  flourishing  grove,  a  clear  and 
7nurmuring  fountain,  a  calm  sea  by  moonlight;  or  from 
works  of  art,  such  as  a  noble  edifice,  a  musical  tune,  a 
statue,  a  picture,  a  poem.  In  treating  of  these  Pleasures 
ivc  must  begin  with  the  former  class,  they  being  original 
to  the  other ;  and  nothing  more  being  necessary,  in  order 
to  explain  them,  than  a  view  of  our  natural  inclination 
toward  greatness  and  beauty,  and  of  those  appearances 
in  the  world  around  us,  to  which  that  inclination  is 
adapted.  This  is  the  subject  of  the  First  Book  of  the 
following  Poem. 

But  the  Pleasures  which  we  receive  from  the  elegant  arts, 
from  music,  sculpture,  painting,  and  poetry,  are  much 
more  various  and  complicated.  In  them  (besides  great- 
71CSS  and  beauty,  or  forms  proper  to  the  Imagination)  we 
find  interwoven  frequent  representatidns  of  truth,  of 
virtue  and  vice,  of  circumstances  proper  to  viove  us 
with  laughter,  or  to  excite  in  us  pity,  fear,  and  the  oilier 
passions.  These  inoral  and  inteUecliial  objects  are  de- 
scribed in  the  Second  Book;  to  which  the  Tliird proper- 
ly belongs  as  an  episode,  though  too  large  to  have  been 
included  in  it. 

Willi  the  above-mentioned  causes  oj  pleasure,  which  arc 
universal  in  the  course  of  human  life  and  appertain  to 
our  high.er  faculties,  many  others  do  generally  concur. 


IMAGINATION,  ^7 

>.>_>.>.>„,...»..>.>.>.>..>->->.>..>-.>..>••>••>•>••>••>■>-»••>->->•>•■>•>•■>•■>■■>■•>•>■••»•"►">■>•■■ 

THE   GENERAL   ARGUMENT. 

more  limited  in  their  operation,  or  of  an  inferior  ori- 
gin :  such  are  the  novelty  of  objects,  the  association 
of  ideas,  affections  of  the  bodily  senses,  influences  of  ed- 
ucation, national  habits,  and  the  like.  To  illustrate 
these,  and  from  the  nhole  to  determine  the  character 
of  a  perfect  taste,  is  the  argument  of  the  Fourth  Book. 

Hitherto  the  pleasures  of  the  imagination  belong  to  the 
hvnan  species  in  general.  But  there  are  certain  par- 
ticular men  whose  imagination  is  endov^ed  with  poxuers, 
and  susceptible  of  pleasures,  which  the  generality  of 
mankind  never  participate :  these  are  the  men  of  genius, 

■  destined  by  nature  to  excel  in  one  or  other  of  the  arts 
already  mentioned.  It  is  proposed  therefore,  in  the 
last  place,  to  delineate  that  genius  which  in  some  degree 
appears  common  to  them  all;  yet  with  a  more  peculiar 
consideration  of  poetry  :  inasmuch  as  poetry  is  the  most 
extensive  of  those  arts,  the  most  philosophical,  and  the 
most  useful. 


N.  B.  The  f;;;urc3  at  the  bottom  of  the  page  in  both  thr  poems, 
refer  to  the  similar  passages  in  each,  for  the  convenience  of  those 
who  may  wish  to  compare  them. 


ARGUMENT 


THE    FIRST    BOOK, 


THE  subject  proposed.  Dedication.  The  ideas  of  the  supreme 
being,  the  exemplars  of  all  things.  The  variety  of  constituiioa 
in  the  minds  of  men;  with  its  final  cause.  The  general  charac- 
ter of  a  fine  imagination.  All  the  immediate  pleasures  of  the 
human  imagination  proceed  either  from  greatness  or  beauty  in 
external  objects.  Tlie  pleasure  from  greatness;  with  its  final 
cause.  The  natural  connection  of  beauty  with  *  truth  and  good* 
The  different  orders  of  beauty  in  dift'erent  objects.  The  infinite 
and  all-comprehending  form  of  beauty,  which  belongs  to  the  di- 
vine mind.  The  partial  and  artificial  forms  of  beauty,  which 
belong  to  inferior  intellectual  beings.  The  orij,'in  and  general  con- 
duct of  beauty  in  man.  The  subordination  of  local  beauties  to 
to  the  beauty  of  the  universe.     Conclusion. 


*  Truth  is  here  taken  rot  hi  a  logical,  but  in  a  mixed  and  ]>opiifar 
soisc,  or  fur  -xhat  Aa*  been  called  the  truth  of  thin  gi  ;  dgiiotini;  as  tuf/l 
their  natural  and  regular  eomlition,  as  a  proper  otimatc  or  j-'idi^^iun: 
concerning  them. 


THE 


PLEASURES 


IMAGINATION 


BOOK    THE    FIRST. 


MDCCLVII. 


With  what  inchantment  Nature's  goodly  scene 
Attracts  the  sense  of  mortals ;  how  the  mind 
For  its  own  eye  doth  objects  nobler  still 
Prepare  ;  how  men  by  various  lessons  learn 
To  judge  of  Beauty's  praise;  what  raptures  fill  5 

The  breast  with  Fancy's  native  arts  endow'd 
And  what  true  culture  glides  it  to  renown  ; 
My  verse  unfolds.     Ye  gods,  or  godlike  powers. 
Ye  guardians  of  the  sacred  task,  attend 
Propitious.     Hand  in  hand  around  your  bard  10 

Move  in  majestic  measures,  leading  on 
His  doubtful  step  through  many  a  solemn  path. 
Conscious  of  secrets  which  to  human  sight 
Ye  only  can  reveal.     Be  great  in  him  : 
H  2 


90  THE   PLEASURES   OF   THE 

And  let  your  favour  make  him  wise  to  speak  15 

Of  all  your  wonderous  empire  ;  with  a  voice 
So  temper'd  to  his  theme,  that  those,  who  hear. 
May  yield  perpetual  homage  to  yourselves. 
Thou  chief,  O  daughter  of  eternal  Love  ! 
Whate'er  thy  name;  or  Muse,  or  Grace,  adored        20 
By  Grecian  prophets;  to  the  sons  of  heaven 
Known,  while  with  deep  amazement  thou  dost  there 
The  perfect  counsels  read,  the  ideas  old. 
Of  thine  OmnisciExNt  Father  ;  known  on  earth 
By  the  still  horror  and  the  blissful  tear  25 

With  which  thou  seizest  on  the  soul  of  man  ; 
Thou  *  chief.  Poetic  Spirit,  from  the  banks 
Of  Avon,  whence  thy  holy  fingers  cull 
Fresh  flowers  and  dews  to  sprinkle  on  the  turf 
Where  Shakrspear  lies,  be  present ;  and  with  thee     30 
Let  Ftcxion  come,  on  her  aerial  wings 
Wafting  ten  thousand  colours;  which  in  sport. 
By  the  light  glances  of  her  magic  eye. 
She  blends  and  shifts  at  will  through  countless  forms. 
Her  wild  creation.     Goddess  t  of  the  lyre,  35 

Whose  awful  tones  control  the  moving  sphere. 
Wilt  t  thou,  eternal  Harmony,  descend. 
And  join  this  happy  train  ?  for  with  thee  comes 
The  guide,  the  guardian  of  their  mystic  rites. 
Wise  Order  :  and,  where  Order  deigns  to  come,       40 
Her  sister.  Liberty,  will  not  be  far. 
Be  present  all  ye  Genii,  who  conduct 
Of  youthful  bards  the  lonely-wandering  step 
New  to  your  springs  and  shades ;  who  touch  their  ear 
With  finer  sounds,  and  heighten  to  their  eye  43 

•  Booi  I,  line  9.         f  Book  I,  line  13.       +  Book  I,  line  20.     ' 


IMAGINATION.        B.  I.  91 

The  pomp  of  Nature,  and  before  them  place 
The  fairest,  loftiest  countenance  of  things. 
Nor  thou,  my  Dyson,  to  the  lay  refuse 
Thy  wonted  partial  audience.     What,  though  first 
In  years  unseason'd,  haply  ere  the  sports  50 

Of  childhood  yet  were  o'er,  the  adventurous  lay 
With  many  splendid  prospects,  many  charms. 
Allured  my  heart,  nor  conscious  whence  they  sprung. 
Nor  heedful  of  their  end  ?  yet  serious  truth 
Her  empire  o'er  the  calm,  sequester'd  theme  55 

Asserted  soon ;  while  falsehood's  evil  brood, 
Vice  and  deceitful  pleasure,  she  at  once 
Excluded,  and  my  fancy's  careless  toil 
Drew  to  the  better  cause.     Maturer  aid 
Thy  friendship  added,  in  the  paths  of  life,  60 

Tlie  busy  paths,  my  unaccustom'd  feet 
Preserving  :  nor  to  Truth's  recess  divine. 
Through  this  wide  argument's  unbeaten  space. 
Withholding  surer  guidance;  while  by  turns 
We  traced  the  sages  old,  or  while  the  queen  65 

Of  Sciences  (whom  manners  and  the  mind 
Acknowledge)  to  my  true  companion's  voice 
Not  unattentive,  o'er  the  wintery  lamp 
Inclined  her  sceptre,  favouring.     Now  the  Fates 
Have  other  tasks  imposed.     To  thee,  ray  friend,         70 
The  ministry  of  freedom,  and  the  faith 
Of  popular  decrees,  in  early  youth. 
Not  vainly  thry  committed.     Me  they  sent 
To  wait  on  pain  ;  and  silent  arts  to  urge. 
Inglorious:  not  ignoble  ;  if  my  cares,  75 

To  such  as  languish  on  a  grievous  bed. 


92         THE   PLEASURES   OF  THE 

Ease  and  the  sweet  forgetfulness  of  ill 

Conciliate  :  nor  deligbtless  ;  if  the  Muse, 

Her  shades  to  visit  and  to  taste  her  springs. 

If  some  distinguisbM  hours  the  bounteous  Muse         80 

Impart,  and  grant  (what  she,  and  she  alone 

Can  grant  to  mortals)  that  my  hand  those  wreaths 

Of  fame  and  honest  favour,  which  the  bless'd 

Wear  in  Elj'sium,  and  which  never  felt 

The  breath  of  envy  or  malignant  tongues,  85 

That  these  my  hand  for  thee  and  for  myself 

May  gather.     Meanwhile,  O  my  faithful  friend, 

O  early  chosen,  ever  found  the  same. 

And  trusted  and  beloved  !  once  more  the  verse 

Long  destin'd,  always  obvious  to  thine  ear,  90 

Attend,  indulgent.     So  in  latest  years,  • 

When  time  thy  head  with  honours  shall  have  cloth 'd 

Sacred  to  even  virtue,  may  thy  mind. 

Amid  the  calm  review  of  seasons  past. 

Fair  offices  of  friendship,  or  kind  peace,  95 

Or  public  zeal ; — may  then  thy  mind  well  pleased 

Recal  these  happy  studies  of  our  prime. 

From  *  heaven  my  strains  begin.     From  heaven  de- 
The  flame  of  genius  to  the  chosen  breast,  [scends 

And  beauty  with  poetic  wonder  join'd,  100 

And  inspiration.     Ere  the  rising  sun 
Shone  o'er  the  deep,  or  'mid  the  vault  of  night 
The  moon  her  silver  lamp  suspended  :  ere 
The  vales  with  springs  were  water'd,  or  with  groves 
Of  oak  or  pine  the  ancient  hills  were  crown 'd ;         105 
Then  the  Great  Spirit,  whom  his  works  adore. 
Within  his  own  deep  essence  view'd  the  forms, 
*  Beoi  I,  line  56. 


IMAGINATION.         B.  I.  93 

The  forms  eternal  of  created  things  ; 

The  radiant  sun  ;  the  moon's  nocturnal  lamp ; 

The  mountains  and  t^ie  streams ;  the  ample  stores    1 10 

Of  earth,  of  heaven,  of  nature.     From  the  lirst. 

On  that  full  scene  his  love  divine  he  fixM, 

His  admiration.     Till,  in  time  complete. 

What  he  admired  and  loved,  his  vital  power 

Unfolded  into  being.     Hence  the  breath  115 

Of  life  informing  each  organic  frame  : 

Hence  the  green  earth,  and  wild  resounding  waves  : 

Hence  light,  and  shade  alternate  ;  warmth  and  cold ; 

And  bright  autumnal  skies,  and  vernal  showers. 

And  all  the  fair  variety  of  things.  12© 

But  t  not  alike  to  every  mortal  eye. 
Is  this  great  scene  unveil'd.     For,  while  the  claims 
Of  social  life  to  different  labours  urge 
The  active  powers  of  man,  with  wisest  care 
Hath  Nature  on  the  multitude  of  minds  135 

Impress'd  a  various  bias;  and  to  each 
Decreed  its  province  in  the  common  toil. 
To  some  she  taught  the  fabric  of  the  sphere, 
l"he  changeful  moon,  the  circuit  of  the  star?. 
The  golden  zones  of  heaven.     To  some  she  gave       130 
To  search  the  story  of  eternal  thought; 
Of  space,  and  time  ;  of  fate's  unbroken  chain. 
And  will's  quick  movement :— others  by  the  hand 
She  led  o'er  vales  and  mountains,  to  explore 
What  healing  virtue  dwells  in  every  vein  135 

Of  herbs  or  trees.     But  some  to  nobler  hopes 
Were  destined  :  some  within  a  finer  mould 
She  wrought,  and  temper'd  with  a  purer  flame. 
i-  Booi  I,  line  I'X 


fM.  THE  PLEASURES  OF  THE 

To  these  the  Sibe  Omnipotent  unfohls. 

In  fuller  aspects  and  with  fairer  lights,  1 10 

This  PICTURE  OF  THE  WORLD  : — througli  every  part 

'I'hey  trace  the  lofty  sketches  of  his  hand : 

In  earth,  or  air,  the  meadow's  flowery  store. 

The  moon's  mild  radiance,  or  the  virgin's  mien 

Dress'd  in  attractive  smiles,  they  see  portray 'd  145 

(As  far  as  mortal  eyes  the  portrait  scan) 

Those  lineaments  of  beauty  which  delight 

The  mind  supreme; — they  also  feel  their  force, 

Enamour'd  :  they  partake  the  eternal  joy. 

For  *  as  old  Memnon's  image,  long  rcnown'd       150 
Tiirough  fabling  Egypt,  at  the  genial  touch 
Of  morning,  from  its  inmost  frame  sent  forth 
Spontaneous  music  ;  so  doth  Nature's  hand. 
To  certain  attributes  which  matter  claims. 
Adapt  the  finer  organs  of  the  mind  :  155 

So  the  glad  impulse  of  those  kindred  powers 
(Of  form,  of  colour's  cheerful  pomp,  of  sound 
INIelodious,  or  of  motion  aptly  sped) 
Detains  the  enliven'd  sense ;  till  soon  the  soul 
Feels  the  deep  concord,  and  assents  through  all        160 
Her  functions.     Then  the  charm  by  Fate  prepared 
Citfuseth  its  inchantment :  Fancy  f  dreams. 
Rapt  into  high  discourse  with  prophets  old. 
And  wandering  through  Elysium,  Fancy  dreams 
or  sacred  fountains,  of  o'ershadowing  groves,  165 

Whose  walks  with  godlike  harmony  resound  : 
Fountains,  which  Homer  visits  ;  happy  groves. 
Where  Milton  dwells.     The  intellectual  power. 
On  the  mind's  throne,  suspends  his  graver  cares, 
•?•  Booh  I.  line  10«,  f  Book  I,  line  125. 


IMAGINATION.        B.  I.  95 

And  smiles.     The  passions,  to  divine  repose,  170 

t*ersuaded  yield :  and  love  and  joy  alone 

Are  waking  :  love  and  joy,  such  as  await 

An  angel's  meditation.     O  !  attend. 

Whoe'er  thou  art  whom  these  deliglits  can  touch ; 

Whom  Nature's  aspect.  Nature's  simple  garb,         175 

Can  thus  command  :  O  !  listen  to  my  song. 

And  I  will  guide  thee  to  her  blissful  walks. 

And  teach  thy  solitude  her  voice  to  hear. 

And  point  her  gracious  features  to  thy  view. 

Know  *  then,  whate'er  of  the  world's  ancient  store, 
Whate'er  of  mimic  art's  reflected  scenes,  181 

With  love  and  admiration  thus  inspire 
Attentive  Fancy  ; — her  delighted  sons 
In  two  illustrious  orders  comprehend. 
Self-taught.     From  him,  -whose  rustic  toil  the  lark   185 
Cheers  warbling,  to  the  bard,  whose  daring  thoughts 
Range  the  full  orb  of  being,  still  the  form, 
Which  Fancy  worships,  or  sublime  or  fair 
Her  votaries  proclaim.     I  see  them  dawn  : 
I  see  the  radiant  visions,  where  they  rise  1 90 

More  lovely,  than  when  Lucifer  displays 
His  glittering  forehead  through  the  gates  of  morn. 
To  lead  the  train  of  Phoebus  and  the  Spring. 

Say,  i  why  was  MAN  so  eminently  raised 
Amid  the  vast  creation  ;  why  impower'd  105 

Through  life  and  death  to  dart  his  watchful  eye. 
With  thoughts  beyond  the  limit  of  his  frame  ; 
But  that  the  Omnipotent  might  send  liiinforih, 
In  sight  of  angels  and  immortal  minds, 
A3  on  an  ample  theatre,  to  join  gOO 

*  Book  r,  iuu  ir/.i.       t  •'<'"-'f  ^  /'■"  i-^!- 


9«  THE   PLEASURES   OF  THE 

In  contest  with  his  equals,  who  shall  best 

The  task  atchievej  the  course  of  noble  toils. 

By  WISDOM  and  by  mercy  preordain'd  ? 

Might  send  him  forth  the  sovran  cood  to  learn ; 

To  chace  each  meaner  purpose  from  his  breast  j       205 

And  through  the  mists  of  passion  and  of  sense. 

And  through  the  pelting  storms  of  chance  and  pain. 

To  hold  straight  on  with  constant  heart  and  eye 

Still  fix'd  upon  his  everlasting  palm. 

The  approving  smile  of  Heaven  ?  *  Else,  wherefore  burns 

In  mortal  bosoms  this  unquenched  hope,  21 1 

That  seeks  from  day  to  day  sublimer  ends  ; 

Happy,  though  restless  ?     Why  departs  the  soul. 

Wide  from  the  track  and  journey  of  her  times. 

To  grasp  the  good  she  knows  not  ?  in  the  field         215 

Of  things  which  may  be,  in  the  spacious  field 

Of  science,  potent  arts,  or  dreadful  arms ; 

To  raise  up  scenes,  in  which  her  own  desires 

Contented  may  repose;  when  things,  which  are. 

Pall  on  her  temper,  like  a  twice-told  tale ;      "  220 

Her  temper  still  demanding  to  be  free ; 

Spurning  the  rude  control  of  wilful  Might ; 

Proud  t  of  her  dangers  braved,  her  griefs  endured, 

Her  strength  severely  proved  ?  To  these  high  aims. 

Which  reason  and  affection  prompt  in  man,  225 

Not  adverse  nor  unapt  hath  Nature  framed 

His  bold  imagination.     For,  amid 

The  various  forms  which  this  full  world  presents 

Like  rivals  to  his  choice,  what  human  breast 

E'er  doubts,  before  the  transient  and  minute,         230 

To  prize  the  vast,  the  stable,  the  sublime  ? 

*  Book  T,  line  166  f  -^o^^  ^>  '''^^  ■^"3- 


IMAGINATION.        B.  L  97 

Who,  that  from  heights  aerial  sends  his  ^ye 
Around  a  wild  horizon,  and  surveys 
Indus  or  Ganges  rolling  his  broad  wave  234 

Thro'  mountains,  plains,  thro'  spacious  cities  «}d. 
And  regions  dark  with  woods-;  will  turn  away 
To  mark  the  path  of  some  penurious  rill 
Which  murmureth  at  his  feet  ?   Where  does  the  soul 
Consent  her  soaring  fancy  to  restrain. 
Which  bears  her  op,  as  on  an  eagle's  wings,  210 

Destin'd  for  highest  heaven;  or  which  of  Fate's 
Tremendous  barriers  shall  confine  her  flight 
To  any  humbler  quarry  ?     The  rich  earth 
•Cannot  detain  her;  nor  the  ambient  air 
With  all  its  changes  :—  t  for  a  while,  with  joy         2i5 
She  hovei-s  o'er  the  sun,  and  views  the  small 
Attendant  orbs,  beneath  his  sacred  beam, 
■Emerging  from  the  deep,  like  cluster 'd  isles. 
Whose  rocky  shores  to  the  glad  sailor's  eye 
Reflect  the  gleams  of  morning : — for  a  while,  250 

With  pride  she  sees  his  firm  paternal  sway- 
Bend  the  reluctant  pkmets,  to  move  each 
Hound  its  perpetual  year :  but  soon  she  quits 
Tliat  prospect :  meditating  lofti^  views. 
She  darts  adventurous  up  the  lo^  career  ^253 

Of  comets;  through  the  constellations  holds 
Her  course,  and  now  looks  back  on  all  the  stars, 
Whose  blended  flames  as  with  a  milky  stream 
Part  the  blue  region  : — empyrean  *  tracts. 
Where  happy  souls  beyond  this  concave  heaven       260 
Abide,  she  then  explores  ;  whence  purer  light 
For  countless  ages  travels  through  the  abyss, 

t  Book  I,  itne  1?0.  •  Bo-ji  I,  lint  2QJ!- 


93  THE  PLEASURES   OF  THE 

Nor  hath  in  sight  of  mortals  yet  arrived  : 

Upon  the  wide  creation's  utmost  shore 

At  length  she  stands,  and  the  dread  space  beyond    265 

Contemplates,  half  recoiling ;  nathless,  down 

The  gloomy  void,  astonished,  yet  unquell'd. 

She  plungeth  ; — down  the  unfathomable  gulf 

Where  God  alone  hath  being :  there  *  her  hopes 

Rest  at  the  fated  goal:  for  from  the  birth  27^ 

Of  human  kind,  the  Sovran  Maker  said. 

That  not  in  humble,  nor  in  brief  delight. 

Not  in  the  fleeting  echoes  of  Renown, 

Power's  purple  robe,  nor  Pleasure's  flowery  lap. 

The  SOUL  should  find  contentment ;  but  from  these  27  5 

Turning  disdainful  to  an  equal  good. 

Through  Nature's  opening  walks  enlarge  her  aim. 

Till  every  bound  at  length  should  disappear. 

And  INFINITE  PERFECTION  fill  the  sccne.  279 

But  t  lo  !  where  Beauty,  dress'd  in  gentler  pompj 
With  comely  steps  advancing,  claims  the  verse 
Her  charms  i-nspire.     O  Beauty!  source  of  praise. 
Of  honour,  e'en  to  mute  and  lifeless  things; 
O  thou,  that  kindlest  in  each  human  heart 
Love,  and  the  wish  ofjjoets,  when  their  tongue        2SS 
Would  teach  to  other  TJosoms  what  so  charms 
Their  own  !   O  child  of  Nature  and  the  soul. 
In  happiest  hour  brought  forth;  the  doubtful  garb 
Of  words,  of  earthly  language,  all  too  mean. 
Too  lowly  1  account,  in  which  .to  clothe  290 

Thy  form  divine.     For  thee  the  mind  alone 
Beholds  ;  nor  half  thy  brightness  can  reveal 
Tluougb  those  dim  organs,  whose  corporeal  touch 
♦  Book  \,  line  211.  -j  Book  I,  line  271. 


IMAGINATION.        B.I.        .99 

G'ershadoweth  thy  pure  essence.     Yet,  my  Muse, 

If  fortune  call  thee  to  the  task,  wait  thou  295 

Thy  favourable  seasons  :  then,  while  fear 

And  doubt  are  absent,  through  wide  Nature's  bounds 

Expatiate  with  glad  step,  and  choose  at  will 

Wbate'er  bright  spoils  the  florid  earth  contains, 

Whate'er  the  waters,  or  the  liquid  air,  SOO 

To  manifest  unblemish'd  Beauty's  pr".:se. 

And  o'er  the  breasts  of  mortals  to  extend 

Her  gracious  empire.     *  Wilt  thou,  to  the  isles 

Atlantic,  to  the  rich  Hesperian  clime 

Fly  in  the  train  of  Autumn  ;  and  look  on,  305 

And  learn  from  him ;  while,  as  he  roves  around. 

Where'er  his  fingers  touch  the  fruitful  grove. 

The  branches  bloom  with  gold  ;  where'er  his  foot 

Imprints  the  soil,  the  ripening  clusters  swell. 

Turning  aside  their  foliage,  and  come  forth  310 

In  purple  lights,  till  every  hilloc  glows 

As  with  the  blushes  ot  an  evening  sky  ? 

Or  wilt  thou  that  Thessaliau  landscape  trace. 

Where  slow  Peneus  his  clear  glassy  tide 

Draws  smooth  along,  between  the  winding  clifls       315 

Of  Oisa,  and  the  pathless  woods  unshorn 

That  wave  o'er  huge  Olympus  ?  fp)own  the  stream. 

Look  how  the  mountains  with  their  double  range 

Embrace  the  vale  of  Tempe  ;  from  each  side 

Ascending  steep  to  heaven,  a  rocky  mound  320 

Cover'd  with  ivy  and  the  laurel  boughs 

That  crown'd  young  Phoebus  for  the  Python  slain. 

Fair  Tempe!  on  whose  primrose  banks  the  morn 

Awoke  most  fragrant,  and  the  noon  reposed 

*  Ikm!;  I,  ime  '2»7. 


100#       THE  PLEASURES   OF   TBE 

In  pomp  of  lights  and  sliadows  most  sublime :  325 

Whose  lawns,  whose  glades,  cfc  human  footsteps  yet 

Had  traced  an  entrance,  were  the  hallow'd  haunt 

Of  sylvan  powers  immortal :  where  they  sate 

Oft  in  the  golden  age,  the  Nymphs  and  Fauns, 

Beneath  some  arbour  branching  o'er  the  flood,  330 

And  leaning  round,  hung  on  the  instructive  lips 

Of  hoary  Pan,  or  o'er  some  open  dale 

Danced  in  light  measures  to  his  sevenfold  pipe. 

While  Zephyr's  wanton  hand  along  their  path 

Flung  showers  of  painted  blossoms,  fertile  dews,       335- 

And  one  perpetual  spring.     But  if  our  task 

More  lofty  rites  demand,  with  all  good  vows 

Then  let  us  hasten  to  the  rural  haunt 

Where  young  Melissa  dwells.     Nor  thou  refuse 

The  voice  which  calls  thee  from  thy  loved  retreat. 

But  *  hither,  gentle  maid,  thy  footsteps  turn  :  3i> 

Here,  to  thy  own  unquestionable  theme, 

O  fair  !   O  graceful !  bend  thy  polish'd  brow. 

Assenting ;  and  the  gladness  of  thy  eyes 

Impart  to  me,  like  morning's  wished  light  34-5 

Seen  through  the  vernal  air.     By  yonder  stream. 

Where  beech  and  elm  along  the  bordering  mead 

Send  forth  wild  melojly  from  every  bough. 

Together  let  us  wander ;  where  the  hills 

Cover'd  with  fleeces  to  the  lowing  vale  S59 

Reply  ;  where  tidings  of  content  and  peace 

Each  echo  brings.     Lo,  how  the  western  sun. 

O'er  fields  and  floods,  o'er  every  living  soul, 

Diftuseth  glad  repose  !     There,  while  I  speak 

Of  Bealty's  honours,  thou,  Melissa,  thou  35 '' 

•  Book  I,  line  312. 


IMAGINATION.        B.I.       ^101 

Shalt  hearken,  not  unconscious  :  while  I  tell 
How  first  from  heaven  she  came ;  how  after  all 
The  works  of  life,  the  elemental  scenes, 
The  hours,  the  seasons,  she  had  oft  explored. 
At  length  her  favourite  mansion  and  her  throne        360 
She  fix'd  in  woman's  form  :  what  pleasing  ties 
To  virtue  bind  her;  what  effectual  aid 
They  lend  each  other's  power ;  and  how  divine 
Their  union,  should  some  unambitious  maid, 
To  all  the  inchantment  of  the  Idalian  queen,  365 

Add  sanctity  and  wisdom.     While  my  tongue 
Prolongs  the  tale,  INIelissa,  thou  may'st  feign 
To  wonder  whence  my  rapture  is  inspired  ; 
But  soon  the  smile  which  dawns  upon  tby  lip 
Shall  tell  it,  and  the  tenderer  bloom  o'er  all  370 

That  soft  cheek  springing  to  the  marble  neck. 
Which  bends  aside  in  vain,  revealing  more 
What  it  would  thus  keep  silent,  and  in  vain 
The  sense  of  praise  dissembling.     Then  my  song 
Great  Nature's  winning  arts,  which  thus  inform       37.5 
With  joy  and  love  the  rugged  breast  of  man. 
Should  sound  in  numbers  worthy  such  a  theme  : 
While  all  whose  souls  have  ever  felt  the  force 
Of  those  inchanting  passions,  to  my  lyre 
Should  throng  attentive,  and  receive  once  more        380 
Their  influence,  unobscured  by  any  cloud 
Of  vulgar  care,  and  purer  than  the  hand 
Of  fortune  can  bestow  :  nor,  to  confirm 
Their  sway,  should  awful  Contemplation  scorn 
To  join  his  dictates  to  the  genuine  strain  385 

Of  Pleasure's  tongue  ;  nor  yet  should  Pleasure's  ear 
Be  much  averse.     Ye  chiefly,  gentle  band 
12 


102^  THE  PLEASURES   OF   THE 

Of  youths  and  virgins,  who,  through  many  a  wish 

And  many  a  fond  pursuit,  as  in  some  scene 

Of  magic  bright  and  fleeting,  are  allured  390 

By  various  beauty ;  if  the  pleasing  toil 

Can  yield  a  moment's  respite,  hither  turn 

Your  favourable  ear,  and  trust  roy  words. 

I  *  do  not  mean,  on  bless'd  Religion's  seat 

Presenting  Superstition's  gloomy  form,  395 

To  dash  your  soothing  hopes  ;  I  do  not  mean 

To  bid  the  jealous  Thunderer  fire  the  heavens. 

Or  shapes  infernal  r^nd  the  groaning  earth. 

And  scare  you  from  your  joys: — my  cheerful  song 

With  happier  omens  calls  you  to  the  field  ;  400 

Pleased  with  your  generous  ardour  in  the  chase. 

And  warm  like  you.     Then  tell  me  (for  ye  know) 

Doth  t  Beauty  ever  deign  to  dwell,  where  Use 

And  Aptitude  are  strangers  t  is  her  praise 

Confess'd  in  aught  whose  most  peculiar  ends  403 

Are  lame  and  fruitless  ?  or  did  Nature  mean 

This  pleasing  call,  the  herald  of  a  lie. 

To  hide  the  shame  of  discord  and  disease. 

And  win  each  fond  admirer  into  snares, 

Foil'd,  baffled  ?     No  :  t  with  better  providence  410 

The  general  Mother,  conscious  how  infirm 

Her  offspring  tread  the  paths  of  good  and  ill. 

Thus  to  the  choice  of  credulous  desire. 

Doth  objects  the  completest  of  their  tribe 

Distinguish  and  comtnend.     Yon  flowej-y  bank,       415 

•  £uok  I,  line  341. 

-5-  Ver.'jslas,  et  pukhritudo  corporis  secerrdnon  jKitcst  a  ia!e(iuUne. 

'  '  Cicero. 

i  BooJc  I,  -ine  557. 


I  MxiGl  NATION.        B.I.         ^103 

Clothed  in  the  soft  magnificence  of  Spring, 

Will  not  the  flocks  approve  it  ?  will  they  ask 

The  reedy  fen  for  pasture  ?     That  clear  rill. 

Which  trickleth  murmuring  from  the  mossy  rock. 

Yields  it  less  wholesome  beverage  to  the  worn  420 

And  thirsty  traveller,  than  the  standing  pool 

With  muddy  weeds  o'ergrown  ?     Yon  ragged  vine. 

Whose  lean  and  sullen  clusters  mourn  the  rage 

Of  Eurus,  will  the  wine-press  or  the  bowl 

Report  of  her,  as  of  the  swelling  grape  42J 

Which  glitters  through  the  tendrils,  like  a  gem 

When  first  it  meets  the  sun  ?     Or  what  are  all 

The  various  charms,  to  life  and  sense  adjoin'd  ? 

Are  they  not  pledges  of  a  state  entire. 

Where  native  order  reigns,  with  every  part  430 

In  health,  and  every  function  well  perform'd  ? 

Thus  t  then  at  first  was  Beauty  sent  from  heaven, 
Tlie  lovely  ministress  of  Truth  and  Goon 
In  this  dark  world  ;  for  Truth  and  Good  are  one. 
And  Beauty  dwells  in  them  and  they  in  her  435 

With  like  participation.     Wherefore  then, 
O  sons  of  earth  !  would  ye  dissolve  the  tie  ? 
O  !  wherefore,  with  a  rash  and  greedy  aim. 
Seek  ye  to  rove  through  every  flattering  scene 
WTiich  Beauty  seems  to  deck,  nor  once  inquire         440 
Where  is  the  suffrage  of  eternal  TnuTH, 
Or  where  the  seal  of  undeceitful  Good, 
To  save  your  search  from  folly  ?    Wanting  these, 
Lo  !  Beauty  withers  in  your  void  embrace. 
And  with  the  glittering  of  an  idiot's  toy  44.") 

Did  Fancy  mock  your  vows.     Nor  yet  let  Hope, 
t  Book  I,  line  372. 


lot         THE  PLEASURES  OF  THE 

That  kindliest  inmate  of  the  youthful  breast. 

Be  hence  appall'd ;  be  turn'd  to  coward  Sloth, 

Sitting  in  silence,  with  dejected  eyes. 

Incurious,  and  with  folded  hands :  far  less  4.501 

Let  scorn  of  wild  fantastic  Folly's  dreams. 

Or  hatred  of  the  bigot's  savage  pride, 

Persuade  you  e*er  that  Beauty,  or  the  love 

Which  waits  on  Beauty,  may  not  brook  to  hear 

The  sacred  lore  of  undeceitful  Good  45i> 

And  Truth  eternal.  *    From  the  vulgar  crowd 

Though  Superstition,  tyranness  abhorr'd  I 

The  reverence  due  to  this  majestic  pair 

With  threats  and  execration  still  demands ; 

Though  the  tame  wretch,  who  asks  of  her  the  way  460 

To  their  celestial  dwelling,  she  constrains 

To  quench  or  set  at  nought  the  lamp  of  God 

Within  his  frame ;  through  many  a  cheerless  wild 

Though  forth  she  leads  him,  credulous  and  dark. 

And  awed  with  dubious  notion;  though  at  length   465 

Haply  she  plunge  him  into  cloister'd  cells. 

And  mansions  unrelenting  as  the  grave. 

But  void  of  quiet ;— there  to  watch  the  hours 

Of  midnight ; — there,  amid  the  screaming  owl's 

Dire  song,  with  spectres  or  with  guilty  shades,         470 

To  talk  of  pangs  and  everlasting  woe ; 

Yet  be  not  ye  dismayed ;  f  a  gentler  star 

Presides  o'er  your  adventure.     From  the  bower 

Where  Wisdom  sat  with  her  Athenian  sons. 

Could  but  my  happy  hand  intwine  a  wreath  475 

Of  Plato's  olive  with  the  Mantuan  bay. 

Then  (for  what  need  of  cruel  fear  to  you, 

*  J9eoA-  I,  line  391  f  Booi  I,  I'me  401. 


IMAGINATION.        B.  I.  J05 

To  you  wbom  godlike  love  can  well  command  r) 

Then  should  my  powerful  voice  at  once  dispel 

Those  monkish  horrors ;  should  in  words  divine       480 

Relate  how  favour'd  minds,  like  you  inspired. 

And  taught  their  inspiration  to  conduct 

By  ruling-heaven's  decree,  through  various  walks. 

And  prospects  various,  but  delightful  all. 

Move  onward ;  while  now  myrtle  groves  appear,      43  5 

Now  arras  and  radiant  trophies,  now  the  rods 

Of  empire  with  the  curule  throne,  or  now 

The  domes  of  Contemplation  and  the  Muse. 

Led  by  that  hope  sublime,  whose  cloudless  eye 

Through  the  fair  toils  and  ornaments  of  earth  490 

Discerns  the  nobler  life  reserved  for  heaven, 

Favor'd  alike  they  worship  round  the  shrine 

Where  Truth  conspicuous  with  her  sister-twins. 

The  undivided  partners  of  her  sway. 

With  Good  and  Beauty  reigns.  *  O  !  let  not  us,     49f 

By  Pleasure's  lying  blandishments  detain'd. 

Or  crouching  to  the  frowns  of  bigot-rage, 

O  !  let  not  us  one  moment  pause  to  join 

That  chosen  band.     And  if  the  gracious  power, 

Who  first  awaken'd  my  untutor'd  song,  500 

Will  to  my  invocation  grant  anew 

The  tuneful  spirit,  then  through  all  our  paths 

Ne'er  shall  the  sound  of  this  devoted  lyre 

Be  wanting ;  whether  on  the  rosy  mead 

When  summer  smiles,  to  warn  the  melting  heart      505 

Of  Luxury's  allurement ;  whether  firm 

Against  the  torrent  and  the  stubborn  hill 

To  urge  free  Virtue's  steps,  and  to  her  side 

^  L'o"i  I,   line  -117. 


K>6         TirE   PLEASURES   OF  THE 

Summon  that  strong  divinity  of  soul 

Which  conquers  Chance  and  Fate;  or  on  the  height, 

Tbe  goal  assign'd  her,  haply  to  proclaim  511 

Her  triumph-;  on  her  brow  to  place  the  crown 

Of  uncorrupted  praise;  through  future  worlds 

To  follow  her  interminated  way. 

And  bless  Heaven's  image  in  the  heart  of  man.        515 

Such  *  is  the  worth  of  Beauty  ;  such  her  power. 
So  blameless,  so  revered.     It  now  remains. 
In  just  gradation  through  the  various  ranks 
Of  being,  to  contemplate  how  her  gifts 
Rise  in  due  measure,  watchful  to  attend  520 

The  steps  of  rising  Nature.     Last  and  least. 
In  colours  mingling  with  a  random  blaze, 
Doth  Beauty  dwell.     Then  higher  in  the  forms 
Of  simplest,  easiest  measure  :  in  the  bounds 
Of  circle,  cube,  or  sphere.     The  third  ascent  525 

To  symmetry  adds  colour :  thus  the  pearl 
Shines  in  the  concave  of  its  purple  bed. 
And  painted  shells  along  some  winding  shore 
Catch  with  indented  folds  the  glancing  sun. 
Next  as  we  rise,  appear  the  blooming  tribes  530 

Which  clothe  the  fragrant  earth ;  which  draw  from  her 
Their  own  nutrition  ;  which  are  born  and  die  ; 
Yet,  in  their  seed,  immortal  :  such  the  flowers 
With  which  young  Maia  pays  the  village-maids 
That  hail  her  natal  morn;  and  such  the  groves        535 
Which  blitlie  Pomona  rears  on  Vaga's  bank. 
To  feed  the  bowl  of  Ariconian  swains 
\V'ho  quaft'  beneath  her  branches,  f     Nobler  still 
Is  Beau  iy's  name  ;  where,  to  the  full  consent 

*  Bo'j/^  I,  Iwc  438.        t  J^'-'^  ^>  '-'fK-'  •iC4. 


'  ^IttMilN'ATmN.        B.I.  107 

Of  members  and  of  features,  to  the  pride 

Of  colour,  and  the  vital  change  of  growth;  540 

Life's  holy  flame  with  piercing  sense  is  given, 

^Vhile  active  motion  speaks  the  tempered  soul-: 

So  moves  the  bird  of  Juno  :  so  the  steed 

With  rival  swiftness  beats  the  dusty  plain,  d'iS 

And  faithful  dogs  with  eager  airs  of  joy 

Salute  their  fellows.     What  sublimer  pomp  ♦ 

Adorns  the  seat  where  Virtue  dwells  on  earth. 

And  Truth's  eternal  day-light  shines  around;; 

What  palm  belongs  to  man's  imperial  front,  55Q 

And  woman,  powerful  with  becoming  smiles. 

Chief  of  terrestrial  natures;  need  we  now 

Strive  to  inculcate  ?     f  Thus  hath  Beauty  there 

Her  most  conspicuous  praise  to  matter  lent. 

Where  most  conspicuous  through  that  shadowy  veil 

Breaks  forth  the  bright  expression  of  a  mind ;  530 

By  steps  directing  our  enraptwred  search 

To  him  the  first  of  minds,  the  chief,  the  sole  ; 

From  whom,  through  this  wide  complicated  world 

Did  all  her  various  lineaments  besrin  ;  5  GO 

To  whom  alone,  consenting  and  entire. 

At  once  their  mutual  influence  all  display. 

lie,  *  God  most  high,  (bear  witness  earth  and  heaven) 

The  bring  fountains  in  himself  contains 

Of  beauteous  and  sublime.     With  him  inthroned. 

Ere  dnys  or  years  trod  their  ethereal  way,  560 

In  his  supreme  intelligence  inthroned. 

The  queen  of  Love  holds  her  unclouded  state, 

Urania,     Tbee,  O  1'ather  !  this  extent 

Of  matter  ;  thee,  the  sluggish  earth  and  tract  570 

•  Book  I,  line  431.  f  Ikai  I,  line  4-73. 


108         THE  PLEASURES   Ol?  THE 

Of  seas,  the  heavens  and  heavenly  splendors  feel, 

I'ervading,  quickening,  moving.     From  the  depth 

Of  thy  great  essence,  forth  didst  thou  conduct 

Eternal  form,  and  there,  where  Chaos  reign'd, 

Gavest  her  dominion  to  erect  her  seat. 

And  sanctify  the  mansion.     All  her  works  573 

Well-pleased  thou  didst  behold  ;  the  gloomy  fires 

Of  storm  or  earthquake,  and  the  purest  light 

Of  summer;  soft  Campania's  new-born  rose, 

And  the  slow  weed  which  pines  on  Russian  hills,     580 

Comely  alike  to  thy  full  vision  stand  ; 

To  thy  surrounding  vision,  which  unites 

All  essences  and  powers  of  the  great  world 

In  one  sole  order ;  fair  alike  they  stand. 

As  features  well  consenting,  and  alike  585 

Kcquired  by  Nature  ere  she  could  attain 

■Her  just  resemblance  to  the  perfect  shape 

Of  universal  beauty,  which  with  thee 

Dwelt  from  the  first.     Thou  also,  ancient  mind  ! 

V/hom  love  and  free  beneficence  await  590 

In  all  thy  doings  ;  to  inferior  minds 

Thy  offspring,  and  to  man  thy  youngest  son. 

Refusing  no  convenient  gift  nor  good. 

Their  eyes  didst  open  in  this  earth,  yon  Iteaven, 

Those  starry  worlds,  the  countenance  divine  595 

Of  Beauty  to  behold  :  but  not  to  them 

Didst  thou  her  awful  magnitude  reveal. 

Such  as  before  thine  own  unbounded  sight 

She  stands,  (for  never  shall  created  soul 

Conceive  that  object)  nor  to  all  their  kind?,  COO 

The  same  in  shape  or  features  didst  thou  frame 

Her  image.     Measuring  well  their  difierent  spheres 


IMAGINATION.        B.  L  I0# 

Of  sense  and  action,  thy  paternal  hand 
Hath  for  each  race  prepared  a  different  test 
Of  Beauty,  own'd  and  reverenced  as  their  guide      605 
jMost  apt,  most  faithful.     Thence  inform 'd,  they  scan 
The  objects  that  surround  them ;  and  select. 
Since  the  great  whole  disclaims  their  scanty  view. 
Each  for  himself  selects  peculiar  parts 
Of  Nature ;  what  the  standard  fix'd  by  Heaven         610 
Within  his  breast  approves  :  acquiring  thus 
h. partial  Beauty,  which  becomes  his  lot; 
A  Beauty  which  his  eye  may  comprehend. 
His  hand  may  copy  : — leaving,  O  Supbeme  ! 
O  thou  whom  none  hath  utter'd  !  leaving  all         615 
To  THEE,  that  infinite,  consummate  form. 
Which  the  great  powers,  the  gods  around  thy  throne. 
And  nearest  to  thy  counsels,  know  with  thee 
For  ever  to  have  been ;  but  who  she  is. 
Or  what  hek  likeness,  know  not.     Man  surveys        620 
A  narrower  scene,  where,  by  the  mix'd  effect 
Of  things  corporeal  on  his  passive  mind. 
He  judgeth  what  is  fair.     Corporeal  things 
The  mind  of  man  impel  with  various  powers. 
And  various  features  to  his  eye  disclose.  625 

The  powers  which  move  his  sense  with  instant  joy. 
The  features  which  attract  his  heart  to  love. 
He  marks,  combines,  reposits.     Other  powers 
And  features  of  the  self-same  thing  (unless 
llie  beauteous  form,  the  creature  of  his  mind,  630 

Request  their  close  alliance)  he  o'erlooks 
I'orgotten  ;  or  with  self-ljcguiling  ;^eal. 
Whene'er  his  passions  mingle  in  the  work, 
1  lalf  alters,  half  disowns.     The  tribes  of  men 
K 


110        THE   PLEASURES   OF  THE 

Thus  from  their  diflerent  functions,  and  the  shapes. 

Familiar  to  their  eye,  with  art  obtain,  636 

Unconscious  of  their  purpose,  yet  with  art 

Obtain  the  Beauty  fitting  man  to  love  : 

Whose  proud  Desires,  from  Nature's  homely  toil 

Oft  turn  away  fastidious;  asking  still  640 

The  mind's  high  aid,  to  purify  the  form 

From  matter's  gross  communion ;  to  secure 

For  ever,  from  the  meddling  hand  of  Change 

Or  rude  Decay,  her  features ;  and  to  add 

Whatever  ornaments  may  suit  her  mien,  64-5 

Where'er  he  finds  them  scatter'd  through  the  paths 

Of  Nature  or  of  Fortune  : — then  he  seats 

The  accomplish'd  image  deep  within  his  breast. 

Reviews  it,  and  accounts  it  good  and  fair. 

Thus  the  one  Beauty  of  the  world  entire,  630 

The  universal  Venus,  far  beyond 
Tlie  keenest  etFort  of  created  eyes. 
And  their  most  wide  horizon,  dwells  inthroned 
In  ancient  silence :  at  her  footstool  stands 
An  altar,  burning  with  eternal  fire,  655 

UnsuUy'd,  unconsumed.     Here  every  hour. 
Here  every  moment,  in  their  turns  arrive 
Her  offspring;  an  innumerable  band 
Of  sisters,  comely  all ;  but  differing  far 
In  age,  in  stature,  and  expressive  mien,  660 

More  than  bright  Helen  from  her  new-born  babe. 
To  this  maternal  shrine  in  turns  they  come, 
Each  with  her  sacred  lamp ;  that  from  the  source 
Of  living  fiame,  which  here  immortal  flows. 
Their  portions  of  its  lustre  they  may  draw  QG5 

For  days,  or  months,  or  years ;  for  ages  some ; 


IMAGINATION    BOOK    I.  Ill 

As  their  great  parent's  discipline  requires : 

ITien  to  their  several  mansions  they  depart. 

In  stars,  in  planets,  through  the  unknown  shores 

Of  yon  ethereal  ocean.     Who  can  tell  670 

Even  on  the  surface  of  this  rolling  earth, 

How  many  make  abode  ?     The  fields,  the  groves. 

The  winding  rivers,  and  the  azure  main. 

Are  render'd  solemn  by  their  frequent  feet. 

Their  rites  sublime.     There,  each  her  destin'd  home 

Informs  with  that  pure  radiance  from  the  skies  676 

Brought  down,  and  shines  throughout  her  little  sphere 

Exulting.     Straight,  as  travellers  by  night 

Turn  towards  a  distant  flame,  so  some  tit  eye, 

Among  the  various  tenants  of  the  scene,  680 

Discerns  the  heaven-born  phantom  seated  there. 

And  owns  her  charms  :  hence  the  wide  universe. 

Through  all  the  seasons  of  revolving  worlds. 

Bears  witness  with  its  people,  gods,  and  men. 

To  Beauty's  blissful  power ;  and  with  the  voice         685 

Of  grateful  admiration  still  resounds : 

That  voice,  to  which  is  Beauty's  frame  divine. 

As  is  the  cunning  of  the  master's  hand 

To  the  sweet  accent  of  the  well-tuned  lyre. 

Genius  *  of  ancient  Greece  !  whose  faithful  steps 
Have  led  us  to  these  awful  solitudes  691 

Of  Nature  and  of  Science  ;  Nurse  revered 
Of  generous  counsels  and  heroic  deeds  ! 
O  let  some  portion  of  thy  matchless  praise 
Dwell  in  my  breast,  and  teach  me  to  adorn  695 

This  unattempted  theme  !   Nor  be  my  thoughts 
Presumptuous  counted,  if,  aniid  the  calm 
Which  Hesper  sheds  along  the  vernal  heaven, 
•  lioofc  I,  line  501. 


112         THE   PLEASURES   OF   THE 

If  I,  from  vulgar  Superstition's  walk 
Impatient  steal,  and  from  the  unseemly  rites  700 

Of  splendid  Adulation,  to  attend 
With  hymns  thy  presence  in  the  sylvan  shade. 
By  their  malignant  footsteps  unprofaned. 
Come,  O  renowned  Power  !  thy  glowing  mien 
Such,  and  so  elevated  all  thy  form,  705 

As  when  the  great  barbaric  lord,  again 
And  yet  again  diminish'd,  hid  his  face 
Among  the  herd  of  satraps  and  of  kings ; 
And  at  the  lightning  of  thy  lifted  spear, 
Crouch'd  hke  a  slave.     Bring  all  thy  martial  Spoils, 
Thy  Palms,  thy  Lauuels,  thy  triumphal  Songs,        7 1 1 
Thy  smiling  band  of  Arts,  thy  godlike  SinEs 
Of  civil  wisdom,  thy  unconquer'd  Youth, 
After  some  glorious  day,  rejoicing  round 
Their  new-elected  trophy.     *  Guide  my  feet  715 

Through  fair  Lyceum's  walk,  the  olive  shades 
Of  Academus,  and  the  sacred  vale 
Haunted  by  steps  divine,  where  once,  beneath 
That  ever-living  plantane's  ample  boughs,  720 

Ilissus,  by  Socratic  sounds  detain'd. 
On  his  neglected  urn  attentive  lay  ; 
While  Boreas,  lingering  on  the  neighbouring  steep, 
With  beauteous  Orithyia,  his  love-tale 
In  silent  awe  suspended  :  there  let  me 
With  blameless  hand,  from  thy  unenvious  fields,      725 
Transplant  some  living  blossoms,  to  adorn     • 
IMy  native  clime  :  while,  far  beyond  the  me^d 
Of  Fancy's  toil  aspiring,  I  unlock 
The  springs  of  ancient  wisdom  :  while  I  add 
(What  cannot  be  disjoin'd  from  Beavty's  praise)      730 
*  Book  I,  line  590, 


IMAGINATION.        B.I.  113 

Thy  name  and  native  dress  ;  thy  works  beloved 

And  honour'd  :  while  to  my  compatriot  youth 

I  point  the  great  example  of  thy  sons. 

And  tune  to  Attic  themes  the  British  lyre.  734. 


THE  END  OF  BOOK  THE  FIRST. 


K2 


ARGUMENT 


THE    SECOND    BOOK. 


Introduction  to  this  more  difficult  part  of  the  subject.  Of  truth  and 
its  three  classes,  matter  of  fact,  experimental  or  scientifical  truth, 
(contra-distinguished  from  opinion)  and  universal  truth :  which 
last  is  either  metaphysical  or  geometrical,  either  purely  intellect- 
ual or  perfectly  abstracted.  On  the  power  of  discerning  truth 
depends  that  of  acting  with  the  view  of  an  endj  a  circumstance 
essential  to  virtue.  Of  virtue,  considered  in  the  divine  mind  as 
a  perpetual  and  universal  beneficence.  Of  human  virtue,  con- 
sidered as  a  system  of  particular  sentiments  and  actions,  suitable 
to  the  design  of  proTideace  and  the  condition  of  man ;  to  whom 
it  constitutes  the  chief  good  and  the  first  beauty.  Of  vice  and 
its  origin.  Of  ridicule  j  its  general  nature  and  final  cause.  Of 
the  passions ;  particularly  of  those  which  relate  to  evil,  natural 
or  moral,  and  which  are  generally  accounted  painful^  though  not 
always  unattended  with  pleasure. 


THE 


PLEASURES 

IMAGINATION: 

BOOK    THE    SECOND, 
MDCCLXV. 

Thus  for  of  beauty  and  the  pleasing  Forms 

Which  man's  untutor'd  fancy,  from  the  scenes 

Imperfect  of  this  ever-changing  world. 

Creates ;  and  views,  enamoured.     Now  my  song 

Severer  themes  demand :  mysterious  Truth  ;  5 

And  Virtue,  sovran  good;  the  spells,  the  trains. 

The  progeny  of  Error  ;  the  dread  sway 

Of  Passion  ;  and  whatever  hidden  stores 

From  her  own  lofty  deeds  and  from  herself 

The  mind  acquires.     Severer  argument :  10 

Not  less  attractive ;  nor  deserving  less 

A  constant  ear.     *  For  what  are  all  the  forms 

Educed  by  fancy  from  corporeal  things. 

Greatness,  or  pomp,  or  symmetry  of  parts  ? 

Not  tending  to  the  heart,  soon  feeble  grows,  15 

As  the  blunt  arrow  'gainst  the  knotty  trunk. 

Their  impulse  on  the  sense;  while  the  pall'd  eye 

Expects  in  vain  its  tribute  ;  anks  in  '  ain, 

•  Book  I,  line  526. 


116         THE  PLEASURES  OF  THE 

Where  are  the  ornaments  it  once  admired  ? 

Not  *  so  the  MOUAL  species,  nor  the  powers  20 

Of  Passion  and  of  Thought.    The  ambitious  mind 

With  objects  boundless  as  her  own  desires 

Can  there  converse  :  by  these  unfading  forms 

Touch'd  and  awaken'd,  still  with  eager  act 

She  bends  each  nerve,  and  meditates  well-pleased      25 

Her  gifts,  her  godlike  fortune.     Such  the  scenes 

Now  opening  round  us.     May  the  destined  verse 

Maintain  its  equal  tenor,  though  in  tracts 

Obscure  and  arduous.     May  the  Source  of  light 

All-present,  all-sufficient,  guide  our  steps  30 

Through  every  maze  :  and  whom  in  childish  years 

From  the  loud  throng,  the  beaten  paths  of  wealth 

And  power,  thou  did'st  apart  send  forth  to  speak 

In  tuneful  words  concerning  highest  things ; 

Him  still  do  thou,  O  Father,  at  those  hours  ^5 

Of  pensive  freedom,  when  the  human  soul 

Shuts  out  the  rumour  of  the  world,  him  still 

Touch  thou  with  secret  lessons ;  call  thou  back 

Each  erring  thought ;  and  let  the  yielding  strains 

From  his  full  bosom,  like  a  welcome  rill,  *^ 

Spontaneous  from  its  healthy  fountain,  flow. 

But  from  what  name,  what  favourable  sign. 
What  heavenly  auspice,  rather  shall  1  date 
My  perilous  excursion,  than  from  Truth, 
That  nearest  inmate  of  the  human  soul  ?  45 

Estranged  from  whom,  the  countenance  divine 
Of  man,  disfigured  and  dishonour'd,  sinks 
Among  inte.iur  things  : — for  to  the  brutes 
Percept.cn,  and  the  transient  b'>ons  ol  sense 
•  Bool  1,  line  532. 


IMAGINATION.        B.  11.  117 

Hath  Fate  imparted  :  but  to  man  alone  '     50 

Of  sublunary  beings  was  it  given 

Each  fleeting  impulse  on  the  sensual  powers 

At  leisure  to  review ;  with  equal  eye 

To  scan  the  passion  of  the  stricken  nerve 

Or  the  vague  object  striking  :  to  conduct  .  55 

From  sense,  the  portal  turbulent  and  loud. 

Into  the  Mind's  wide  palace  one  by  one. 

The  frequent,  pressing,  fluctuating  forms  j 

And  question  and  compare  them.     Thus  he  learns 

Their  birth  and  fortunes  ;  how  allied  they  haunt       60 

The  avenues  of  sense  ;  what  laws  direct 

Their  union ;  and  what  various  discords  rise. 

Or  fix'd  or  casual :  which  when  his  clear  thought 

Retains,  and  when  his  faithful  words  express. 

That  living  image  of  the  external  scene,  65 

As  in  a  polish'd  mirror  held  to  view. 

Is  Truth  :  where'er  it  varies  from  the  shape 

And  hue  of  its  exemplar,  in  that  part 

Dim  ERROR  lurks.     Moreover,  from  without 

When  oft  the  same  society  of  forms  70 

In  the  same  order  have  approach'd  his  mind. 

He  deigns  no  more  their  steps  with  curious  heed 

To  trace  ;  no  more  their  features  or  their  garb 

He  now  examines  ;  but  of  them  and  their 

Condition,  as  with  some  diviner's  tongue,  75 

Aflirms  what  Heaven  in  every  distant  place, 

Through  every  future  season,  will  decree; 

This  too  is  Truth  :  where'er  his  prudent  lips 

Wait  till  Experience,  diligent  and  slow. 

Has  authorized  their  sentence,  this  is  Truth  ;  80 

A  second,  higher  kind  :  the  parent  this 


1J8         THE   PLEASURES   OT   THE 

Of  Science;  or  the  lofty  pow«r  herself. 

Science  herself;  on  whom  the  wants  and  cares 

Of  social  life  depend  ;  the  substitute 

Of  God's  own  wisdom  in  this  toilsome  world  ;  85 

The  providence  of  man.     Yet  oft  in  vain 

To  earn  her  aid,  with  fix'd  and  anxious  eye 

He  looks  on  Nature's  and  on  Fortune's  course  : 

Too  much  in  vain  :  his  duller  visual  ray 

The  stillness  and  the  persevering  acts  90 

Of  Nature  oft  elude ;  and  Fortune  oft 

With  step  fantastic  from  her  wonted  walk 

Turns  into  mazes  dim  :  his  sight  is  foil'd. 

And  the  crude  sentence  of  his  faltering  tongue. 

Is  but  Opinion's  verdict ;  half  believed,  95 

And  prone  to  change.    Here  thou,  who  feel'st  thine  ear 

Congenial  to  my  lyre's  profounder  tone. 

Pause  and  be  watchful.     Hitherto  the  stores. 

Which  feed  thy  mind  and  exercise  her  powers. 

Partake  the  relish  of  their  native  soil,  100 

Their  parent  earth  :  but  know  a  nobler  dower 

Her  siKE  at  birth  decreed  her;  purer  gifts 

From  his  own  treasure  ;  forms  which  never  deign'd 

In  eyes  or  ears  to  dwell ;  within  the  sense 

Of  earthly  organs;  but  sublime  were  placed  105 

In  his  essential  reason  ;  leading  there 

That  vast  ideal  host,  which  all  his  works 

Through  endless  ages  never  will  reveal. 

Thus  then  endow'd,  the  feeble  creature  man. 

The  slave  of  hunger  and  the  prey  of  death,  1 10 

I'A'en  now,  even  here,  in  earth's  dim  prison  bound. 

The  language  of  intelugence  divine 

Attains ;  rcpcatitig  oft,  concerning  one 


.:'.-'.    IMAGINATION.        B.  II.  1J9 

And  many,  past  and  present,  parts  and  whole, 

Tliose  sovran  dictates,  wbich  in  farthest  heaven,        1 15 

Where  no  orb  rolls,  Eternity's  fix'd  ear 

Hears  from  coeval  tklth,  when  Chance  nor  Change, 

Nature's  loud  progeny,  nor  Nature's  self 

Dares  intermeddle,  or  approach  her  throne. 

Ere  long  o'er  this  corporeal  world  he  learns  1 20 

To  extend  her  sway  ;  while  calling  from  the  deep. 

From  earth  and  air,  their  multitudes  untohl 

Of  figures  and  of  motions  round  his  walk; 

For  each  wide  family  some  single  birth  . 

He  sets  in  view,  the  impartial  type  of  all  125 

Its  brethern  :  suffering  it  to  claim,  beyond 

Their  common  heritage,  no  private  gift. 

No  proper  fortune.     Then  whate'er  his  eye 

In  this  discerns,  his  bold  unerring  tongue 

Pronounceth  of  the  kindred,  without  bound,  130 

Without  condition.     Such  the  rise  of  forms 

Sequcster'd  far  from  sense,  and  every  spot 

Peculiar  in  the  realms  of  space  or  time  :  . 

Such  is  the  throne  which  man  for  truth,  amid 

The  paths  of  mutability  hath  built,  135 

Secure,  unshaken,  still ;  and  whence  he  views. 

In  matter's  mouldering  structures,  the  pure  forms 

Of  triangle  or  circle,  cube  or  cone, 

Im})a&sive  all ;  whose  attributes  nor  Force 

Nor  Fate  can  alter  :  there  he  first  conceives  1  !•() 

True  being,  and  an  intellectual  world, 

The  same  this  hour  and  ever  :  thence  iir.  dlkm* 

Of  his  own  lot  : — alxjve  the  painted  shapes 

That  ilecting  move  o'er  this  terrestrial  scene 

Looks  up;  beyond  the  adamantine  gates  I  15 


120  THE  PLEASURES   OF  THE 

Of  death  expatiates  j  as  his  birthright  claims 
Inheritance  in  all  the  works  of  God  ; 
Prepares  for  endless  time  his  plan  of  life. 
And  counts  the  universe  itself  his  home. 

Whence  also  but  from  Tuuth,  the  light  of  minds. 
Is  human  fortune  gladden'd  with  the  rays  1 5 1 

Of  Virtue  ?  with  the  moral  colours,  tlu^own 
On  every  walk  of  this  our  social  scene ;  * 

Adorning  for  the  eyes  of  gods  and  men 
The  PASSIONS,  ACTIONS,  HABITUDES  of  life,  \65 

And  rendering  earth  like  heaven,  a  sacx'ed  place. 
Where  Love  and  Praise  may  take  delight  to  dwell  ? 
Let  none  with  heedless  tongue  from  Truth  disjoin 
Tlie  reign  of  Virtue  : — ere  the  <iay-spring  flow'd. 
Like  sisters  link'd  in  Concord's  golden  chain,  IGO 

They  stood  before  the  great  eternal  Mind, 
Their  common  parent ;  and  by  him  were  both 
Sent  forth  among  his  creatures,  hand  in  hand. 
Inseparably  join'd  ;  nor  e'er  did  Truth 
Find  an  apt  ear  to  listen  to  her  lore,  165 

Which  knew  not  Virtue's  voice ;  nor,  save  where  Truth's 
Majestic  words  are  heard  and  understood. 
Doth  Virtue  deign  to  inhabit.     Go,  inquire 
Of  Nature  ;  not  among  Tartarian  rocks. 
Whither  the  hungry  vulture  with  its  prty  170 

Returns  :  not  where  the  lion's  sullen  roar 
At  noon  resounds  along  the  lonely  banks 
Of  ancient  Tigris  :  but  her  gentler  scenes. 
The  dove-cote  and  the  shepherd's  fold  at  morn. 
Consult;  or  by  the  meadow's  fragrant  hedge,  175 

In  spring-time  when  the  woodlands  first  are  green. 
Attend  the  linnet  singing  to  his  mate. 


1  M  A  G  I N  A  r  I O  X.        «.  II.  121 

Couch 'd  o'er  their  tender  young.     To  this  fond  care 

Thou  dost  not  Virtue's  honourable  name 

Attribute  ;  wherefore,  save  that  not  one  gleam  1  SO 

Of  Truth  did  e'er  discover  to  themselves 

Their  little  hearts,  or  teach  them  by  the  effects 

Of  that  parental  love,  the  love  itself 

To  judge,  and  measure  its  officious  deeds  ? 

But  man,  uAose  eyelids  Truth  has  fill' d  with  day,      IS.5 

Discerns  how  skilfully  to  bounteous  ends 

His  wise  affections  move  ;  with  fi-ee  accord 

Adopts  their  guidance  ;  yields  himself  secure 

To  Nature's  prudent  impulse ;  and  converts 

Instinct  to  duty  and  to  sacred  law.  1 90 

Hence  right  and  fit  on  earth  :  while  thus  to  man 

The  Almighty  Legislator  hath  explain'd 

The  springs  of  action  fix'd  within  his  breast ; 

Hath  given  him  power  to  slacken,  or  restrain 

Their  effort ;  and  hath  shewn  him  how  they  join      195 

Their  partial  movements  with  the  master-wheel 

Of  the  great  world,  and  serve  that  sacred  end 

Which  he,  the  Unerring  Reason,  keeps  in  view. 

For  (if  a  mortal  tongue  may  speak  of  him 
And  his  dread  ways)  even  as  his  boundless  eye,        200 
Connecting  every  form  and  every  change. 
Beholds  the  perfect  Beauty  ;  so  his  will. 
Through  every  hour  producing  good  to  all 
The  family  of  creatures,  is  itself 

The  perfect  Virtu i:.     Ix:t  the  grateful  swain  205 

Remember  this,  as  oft  with  joy  and  piai.^e 
He  looks  upon  the  falling  dews  which  clothe 
His  lawns  with  verdure,  and  the  tender  seed 
Nouri.-h  within  his  furrow-. :  when  bftwcen 
L 


122         THE  PLEASURES   OF  THE 

Dead  seas  and  burning  skies,  where  long  unmoved  219 

The  bark  had  languish'd,  now  a  rustling  gale 

Lifts  o'er  the  fickle  waves  her  dancing  prow  j 

Let  the  glad  pilot,  bursting  out  in  thanks. 

Remember  this  :  lest  blind  o'erweening  pride 

Pollute  their  offerings  :  lest  their  selfish  heart  215 

Say  to  the  heavenly  Ruler,  "  At  our  call 

"  Relents  thy  power  ;  by  us  thy  arm  is  naoved/* 

Fools  !  who  of  God  as  of  each  other  deem  : 

And  HIS  invariable  acts  deduce 

From  sudden  counsels,  transient  as  their  own  j  220 

Nor  farther  of  his  bounty,  than  the  event. 

Which  haply  meets  their  loud  and  eager  prayer. 

Acknowledge  ;  nor  beyond  the  drop  minute. 

Which  haply  they  have  tasted,  heed  the  source 

That  flows  for  all;  the  fountain  of  his  love,  225 

Which,  from  the  summit  where  he  sits  inthroned. 

Pours  health  and  joy,  unfailing  streams,  throughout 

The  spacious  region  flourishing  in  view. 

The  goodly  work  of  his  eternal  day. 

His  own  fair  universe  ;  on  which  alone  230 

His  counsels  fix,  and  whence  alone  his  will 

Assumes  her  strong  direction.     Such  is  now 

His  sovran  purpose;  such  it  was  before 

All  multitude  of  years  :  for  his  right  arm 

Was  never  idle ;  his  bestowing  love  235 

Knew  no  beginning ;  was  not  as  a  change 

Of  mood  that  woke  at  last,  and  started  up. 

After  a  deep  and  solitary  sloth 

Of  boundless  ages.    No :  he  now  is  good  ; 

He  EVEu  WAS.     The  feet  of  hoary  Time  240 

Through  their  eternal  course  have  travell'd  o'er 


IMAGINATION.        B.  II.  123 

No  speechless,  lifeless  desert ;  but  through  scenes 

Cheerful  with  bounty  still ;  among  a  pomp 

Of  worlds,  for  gladness  round  the  Maker's  throne 

Loud  shouting;  or,  in  many  dialects  24-5 

Of  hope  and  filial  trust,  imploring  thence 

The  fortunes  of  their  people  :  where  so  *  fix'd 

Were  all  the  dates  of  being,  so  disposed  -' 

To  every  living  soul  of  every  kind 

The  field  of  motion,  and  the  hour  of  rest,  250 

That  each  the  general  happiness  might  serre ; 

And  by  the  discipline  of  laws  divine. 

Convinced  of  folly,  or  chastised  from  guilt. 

Each  might  at  length  be  happy.     What  remains 

Shall  be  like  what  is  past,  but  fairer  still,  265 

And  still  increasing  in  the  godlike  gifts 

Of  Life  and  Truth.     Tlie  same  t  paternal  band. 

From  the  mute  shellfish  gasping  on  the  shore. 

To  men,  to  angels,  to  celestial  minds, 

Will  ever  lead  the  generations  on  260 

Through  higher  scenes  of  being  :  while,  supply'd 

From  day  to  day  by  his  enlivening  breath. 

Inferior  orders  in  succession  rise 

To  fill  the  void  below.    As  flame  ascends. 

As  vapours  to  the  earth  in  showers  return,  265 

As  the  poised  ocean  toward  the  attracting  moon 

Swells,  and  the  ever-listening  planets,  charm'd 

By  the  sun's  call,  their  onward  pace  incline ; 

So  I  all  things  which  have  life  aspire  to  God  ; 

Exhaustlcss  fount  of  intellectual  day,  270 

Centre  of  souls  !  Nor  doth  the  mastering  voice 

Of  Nature  cease  within  to  prompt  aright 

♦  Book  IT,  line  329     f  Vock  U,  line  24'3.     +  Book  If,  line  555. 


124      THE   PLEASURES   OF   THE 

Their  steps;  nor  is  the  care  of  Heaven  withheld 

From  sending  to  the  toil  external  aid ; 

That  in  their  stations  all  may  persevere  27  j 

To  climb  the  ascent  of  being,  and  approach 

For  ever  nearer  to  the  Life  divine. 

But  this  ETERNAL  FABRIC  was  not  raised 
F^or  man^s  inspection.     Though  to  some  be  given 
To  catch  a  transient  visionary  glimpse  280 

Of  that  majestic  scene  which  boundless  power 
Prepares  for  perfect  goodness,  yet  in  vain 
Would  human  life  her  faculties  expand 
To  imbosom  such  an  object.     Nor  could  e'er 
Virtue  or  praise  have  touch'd  the  hearts  of  men,       285 
Had  not  the  Sovran  Guide,  through  every  stage 
Of  this  their  various  journey,  pointed  out 
Xew  hopes,  new  toils,  which  to  tueir  humble  sphere 
Of  sight  and  strength  might  such  importance  hold 
As  doth  the  wide  creation  to  his  own.  290 

Hence  all  the  little  charities  of  life. 
With  all  their  duties  :  hence  that  favourite  palm 
Of  human  will,  when  duty  is  sufficed. 
And  still  the  liberal  soul  in  ampler  deeds 
Would  manifest  herself;  that  sacred  sign  295 

Of  her  revered  affinity  to  him 
Whose  bounties  are  his  own  ;  to  whom  none  said, 
"  Create  the  wisest,  fullest,  fairest  world., 
"  And  make  its  offspring  happy  ;"  who,  intent 
8ome  likeness  of  himself  among  his  works  300 

To  view,  hath  pour'd  into  the  human  breast 
A  ray  of  knowledge  and  of  love,  which  guides 
F2arlh's  feeble  race  to  act  their  maker's  {)art, 
^>ELF  jLDGiNG;  sELF-oBi.iCED  :  while,  from  before 


IMAGINATION,        B.  II.  125 

That  godlike  function,  the  gigantic  power  305 

Necessity,  though  wont  to  curb  the  force 
Of  Chaos  and  the  savage  elements. 
Retires  abash'd,  as  from  a  scene  too  high 
For  her  brute  tyranny,  and  with  her  bears 
Her  scorned  followers,  Tekror,  and  base  Awe  310 

Who  blinds  herself,  and  that  ill-suited  pair. 
Obedience  link'd  with  Hatred.     Then  the  soul 
Arises  in  her  strength  ;  and,  looking  round 
Her  busy  sphere,  whatever  work  she  views. 
Whatever  counsel  bearing  any  trace  315 

Of  her  creator's  likeness,  whether  apt 
To  aid  her  fellows  or  preserve  herself 
In  her  superior  functions  unimpair'd,  / 

Thither  she  turns  exulting  :  that  she  claims 
As  her  peculiar  good  :  on  that,  through  all  320 

The  fickle  seasons  of  the  day,  she  looks 
With  reverence  still :  to  that  as  to  a  fence 
Against  affliction  and  the  darts  of  pain. 
Her  drooping  hopes  repair  :  and,  once  opposed 
To  that,  all  other  pleasure,  other  wealth,  325 

Vile  as  the  dross  upon  the  molten  gold 
Appears,  and  loathsome  as  the  briny  sea 
To  him  who  languishes  with  thirst,  and  sighs 
For  some  known  fountain  pure.     For  what  can  strive 
With  Virtue  r  Which  of  nature's  regions  vast  330 

Can  in  so  many  forms  produce  to  sight 
Such  powerful  Beauty  ?  Beauty,  which  the  eye 
Of  IIatkld  cannot  look  upon  secure  : 
Which  Envy's  self  contemplates,  and  is  turn'd 
Ere  long  to  tenderness,  to  infant  smiles,  335 

Or  tears  of  humblest  love.     *  Is  aught  so  fair 
•  Book  I,  line  500.  L  'Z 


12(5  THE  PLEASURES   OF  THE 

In  all  the  dewy  landscapes  of  the  spring. 
The  summer's  noontide  groves,  the  purple  eve 
At  harvest-home,  or  in  the  frosty  moon 
Glittering  on  some  smooth  sea,  is  aught  so  fair         310 
As  Virtuous  Friendship  ?  as  the  honour'd  roof 
Whither  from  highest  heaven  immortal  Love 
His  torch  ethereal  and  his  golden  bow 
Propitious  brings,  and  there  a  temple  holds 
To  whose  unspotted  service  gladly  vow'd  34*5 

The  social  band  of  Parent,  Brother,  Child, 
With  smiles  and  sweet  discourse  and  gentle  deeds- 
Adore  his  power  ?    What  gift  of  richest  clime 
E'er  drew  such  eager  eyes,  or  prompted  such 
\Deep  wishes,  as  the  zeal  that  snatcheth  back  350 

From  Slander's  poisonous  tooth  a  Foe's  renown  j 
Or  crosseth  danger  in  his  lion  walk, 
A  Rival's  life  to  rescue  ?  as  the  young 
Athenian  warrior  sitting  down  in  bonds. 
That  his  great  father's  body  might  not  want  3,55- 

A  peaceful,  humble  tomb  ?  the  Roman  wife 
Teaching  her  lord  how  harmless  was  the  wound 
Of  death,  how  impotent  the  tyrant's  rage. 
Who  nothing  more  could  threaten  to  afflict 
Their  faithful  love  ?    Or  is  there  in  the  abyss,  SCO 

Is  *  there,  among  the  adamantine  spheres 
Wheeling  unshaken  through  the  boundless  void. 
Aught  that  with  half  such  majesty  can  fill 
The  human  bosom,  as  when  Brutus  rose 
Refulgent  from  the  stroke  of  C.?£sar's  fate  363 

Amid  the  crowd  of  patriots ;  and,  his  arm 
Aloft  extending  like  eternal  Jove 
•  Book  I,  line  488. 


IMAGINATION.        B.  II.         127 

When  guilt  brings  down  the  thunder,  call'd  aloud 
On  Tully's  name,  and  shook  the  crimson  sword 
Of  justice  in  bis  rapt  astonish'd  eye,  370 

And  bade  the  father  of  his  country  hail. 
For  lo  the  tyrant  prostrate  on  the  dust. 
And  Rome  again  is  free  ?    Thus,  through  the  paths 
Of  human  life,  in  various  pomp  array'd 
Walks  the  wise  daughter  of  the  judge  of  heaven,      375 
Fair  Virtue  ;  from  her  father's  throne  supreme 
Sent  down  to  utter  laws,  such  as  on  earth 
Most  apt  he  knew,  most  powerful  to  promote 
The  weal  of  all  his  works,  the  gracious  end 
Of  his  dread  empire.     And  tliough  haply,  man's     380 
Obscurer  sight,  so  far  beyond  himself  ^ 

And  the  brief  labours  of  his  little  home. 
Extends  not ;  yet,  by  the  bright  presence  won 
Of  this  divine  instnictress,  to  her  sway 
Pleased  he  assents,  nor  heeds  the  distant  goal  385 

To  which  her  voice  conducts  him.     Thus  hath  God, 
Still  looking  toward  his  own  high  purpose,  fix'd 
The  virtues  of  his  creatures  ;  thus  he  rules 
The  parent's  fondness  and  the  patriot's  zeal ; 
Thus  the  warm  sense  of  honour  and  of  shame ;         390 
Th«  vows  of  gratitude,  the  faith  of  love ; 
And  all  the  comely  intercourse  of  praise. 
The  joy  of  human  life,  the  earthly  heaven. 

How  far  unhke  them  must  the  lot  of  guilt 
Be  found  !    Or  what  terrestrial  woe  can  match         393 
The  SELF-CONVICTED  BOSOM,  which  had)  wrought 
The  bane  of  others  or  inslaved  itself 
With  shackles  vile  ?  Not  poison,  nor  sharp  fire. 
Nor  the  worst  pangh  that  ever  inoukisli  hate 


128         THE   PLEASURES   OF   THE 

Suggested,  or  despotic  rage  imposed,  400 

Were  at  that  season  an  unwish'd  exchange ; 
When  the  soul  loaths  herself:  when,  flying  thence 
To  crowds,  on  every  brow  she  sees  portray'd 
Fell  demons,  hate  or  scorn,  which  drive  her  back 
To  solitude,  her  judge's  Voice  divine  405 

To  hear  in  secret,  haply  sounding  through 
The  troubled  dreams  of  midnight,  and  still,  still 
Demanding  for  his  violated  Laws 
Fit  recompence,  or  charging  her  own  tongue 
To  speak  the  award  of  justice  on  herself.  410 

For  well  she  knows  what  faithful  hints  within 
Were  whisper'd,  to  beware  the  lying  forms 
Which  turned  her  footsteps  from  the  safer  way  : 
What  cautions  to  suspect  their  painted  dress. 
And  look  with  steady  eyelid  on  their  smiles,  415 

Their  frowns,  their  tears.     In  vain  :  the  dazzling  hues 
Of  Fancv,  and  Opinion's  eager  voice. 
Too  much  prevail'd.     *  For  mortals  tread  the  path 
In  which  Opinion  says  they  follow  good 
Or  fly  from  evil :  and  Opinion  gives  420 

Report  of  good  or  evil,  as  the  scene 
Was  drawn  by  Fancy,  pleasing  or  deform 'd  : 
Thus  her  report  can  never  there  be  true 
Where  Fancy  cheats  the  intellectual  eye 
With  glaring  colours  and  distorted  lines.  425 

Is  there  a  t  man  to  whom  the  name  of  death 
Brings  terror's  ghastly  pageants  conjured  up 
Before  him,  death-bed  groans,  and  dismal  vows. 
And  the  frail  soul  plunged  headlong  from  the  brink 
Of  life  and  daylight  down  the  gloomy  air,  430 

*  Book  III,  line  23.         f  Book  III,  li-ie  31. 


IMAGINATION.        B.  II.  129 

An  unknown  depth,  to  gulphs  of  torturing  fire 
Unvisited  by  mercy  ?    Then  what  hand 
Can  snatch  this  dreamer  from  the  fatal  toils 
Which  Fancy  and  Opinion  thus  conspire 
To  twine  around  his  heart  ?  or  who  shjfll  hush         435 
Their  clamor,  when  they  tell  him  that  to  die. 
To  risk  those  horrors,  *  is  a  direr  curse 
Than  basest  life  can  bring  r  Though  Love  with  prayers 
Most  tender,  with  affliction's  sacred  tears. 
Beseech  his  aid ;  though  gratitude  and  faith  440 

Condemn  each  step  which  loiters ;  yet  let  none 
Make  answer  for  him  that,  if  any  frown 
Of  Danger  thwart  his  path,  he  will  not  stay 
Content,  and  be  a  wretch  to  be  secure. 
Here  Vice  begins  then  :  at  the  gate  of  life,  445 

Ere  the  young  multitude  to  diverse  roads 
Part,  like  fond  pilgrims  on  a  journey  unknown. 
Sits  Fancy,  deep  inchantress ;  and  to  each 
With  kind  maternal  looks  presents  her  bowl, 
A  potent  beverage.     Heedless  they  comply  :  450 

Till  the  whole  soul  from  that  mysterious  draught 
Is  tinged,  and  every  transient  thought  imbibes 
Of  gladness  or  disgust,  desire  or  fear. 
One  home-bred  colour  :  which  not  all  the  lights 
Of  Science  e'er  shall  change;  not  all  the  storms      453 
Of  ADVEusE  FoRTi-'NE  wasli  away,  nor  yet 
The  robe  of  purest  Virtue  quite  conceal. 
Thence  on  they  pass,  where  meeting  frequent  shapes 
Of  good  and  evil,  ciinnin;^^  phantoms  apt 
To  fire  or  freeze  the  breast,  with  them  they  join       4tJ0 
In  dangerous  parley  ;  listening  oft,  and  oft 
*  Jhvk  III,  line  43. 


J30  THE   PLEASURES   OF  THE 

Gazing  with  reckless  passion,  while  its  garb 

The  spectre  heightens,  and  its  pompous  tale 

Repeats  with  some  new  circumstance,  to  suit 

Tliat  early  tincture  of  the  hearer's  soul.  465 

And  should  the  guardian  Reason,  but  for  one 

Short  moment  yield  to  this  illusive  scene 

His  ear  and  eye,  the  intoxicating  charm 

Involves  him,  till  no  longer  he  discerns. 

Or  only  guides  to  err.     *  Then  revel  forth  470 

A  furious  band  that  spurn  him  from  the  throne. 

And  all  is  uproar.     Hence  ambition  climbs 

With  sliding  feet  and  hands  impure,  to  grasp 

Those  solemn  toys  which  glitter  in  his  view 

On  fortune's  rugged  steep  :  hence  pale  Revenge       475 

Unsheaths  her  murderous  dagger  :  Rapine  hetice 

And  envious  Lust,  by  venal  fraud  upborne. 

Surmount  the  reverend  barrier  of  the  laws 

Which  kept  them  from  their  prey  :  hence  all  the  Crimes 

That  e'er  defiled  the  earth,  and  all  the  Plagues        48Q 

That  follow  them  for  vengeance,  in  the  guise 

Of  Honour,  Safety,  Pleasure,  Ease,  or  Pomp, 

Stole  first  into  the  fond  believing  mind. 

Yet  not  by  Fancy's  witchcraft,  on  the  brain 
Are  always  the  tumultuous  Passions  driven  485 

To  guilty  deeds,  nor  Reason  bound  in  chains 
That  Vice  alone  may  lord  it.     f  Oft,  adora'd 
With  motley  pageants,  Folly  mounts  his  throne. 
And  plays  her  ideot  antics,  like  a  queen. 
A  thousand  garbs  she  wears  :  a  thousand  ways         490 
She  whirls  her  giddy  empire.     Lo,  thus  far 
With  bold  adventure  to  the  INIantuan  lyre 

*  Mi'oh  JII,  lina  51,  -t  Bo'A  III,  line  r,7. 


IMAOINATION.        B.  U.  ISl 

I  sing  for  contemplation  link'd  with  love, 

A  pensive  theme.     Now  haplj'  should  my  song 

Unbend  that  serious  countenance,  and  learn  49S 

Thalia's  tripping  gait,  her  shrill-toned  voice. 

Her  wiles  familiar  i  whether,  scorn  she  darts 

In  wanton  ambush  from  her  lip  or  eye. 

Or  whether,  with  a  sad  disguise  of  care 

O'ermantling  her  gay  brow,  she  acts  in  sport  500 

The  deeds  of  Folly,  and  from  all  sides  round 

Calls  forth  impetuous  Laughter's  gay  rebuke  ; 

Her  province.     *  But  through  every  comic  scene 

To  lead  my  Muse  with  her  light  pencil  arm'd ; 

Through  every  swift  occason  which  the  hand  505 

Of  Laughter  points  at,  when  the  mirthful  sting 

Distends  her  labouring  sides  and  chokes  her  tongue  ; 

Were  endless  as  to  sound  each  grating  note 

With  which  the  rooks,  and  chattering  daws,  atid  grave 

Unwieldy  inmates  of  the  village  pond,  510 

The  changing  seasons  of  the  sky  proclaim ; 

Sun,  cloud,  or  shower,     t  Suffice  it  to  have  said. 

Where'er  the  power  of  Ridicule  displays 

Her  quaint-eyed  visage,  some  incongruous  form 

Some  stubborn  dissonance  of  things  combined  515 

Strikes  on  her  quick  perception  :  whether  pomp. 

Or  praise,  or  beauty,  be  dragg'd  in  and  shown. 

Where  sordid  fashions,  where  ignoble  deeds. 

Where  foul  deformity  is  wont  to  dwell  j 

Or  whether  these,  with  shrewd  and  wayward  spite,  520 

Invade  resplendent  pomp's  imperious  mien. 

The  charms  of  beauty,  or  the  boast  of  praise. 

Ask  4  we  for  what  fair  end  the  almighty  Sire 
•  Ikok  ill,  Imc  241.    f  Book  III,  tine  2ib.  +  Book  III,  line  259. 


132         THE    PLEASURES    OF   THE 

In  mortal  bosoms  stirs  this  g^ay  contempt. 

These  grateful  pangs  of  laughter ;  from  disgust        525 

Educing  pleasure  ?     Wherefore,  but  to  aid 

The  tardy  steps  of  Reason,  and  at  once 

By  this  prompt  impulse  urge  us  to  depress 

Wild  Folly's  aims?     For  though  the  sober  lisjht 

Of  Truth  slow-dawning  on  the  watchful  mind  530 

At  Jength  unfolds,  through  many  a  subtile  tie. 

How  these  uncouth  disorders  end  at  last 

In  public  evil ;  yet  benignant  Heaven, 

Conscious  how  dim  the  dawn  of  truth  appears 

To  thousands,  conscious  what  a  scanty  pause  55 j 

From  labour  and  from  care  the  wider  lot 

Of  humble  life  affords  for  studious  thought 

To  scan  the  maze  of  nature,  therefore  stamp 'd 

These  glaring  scenes  with  characters  of  scorn. 

As  broad,  as  obvious  to  the  passing  clown  SM 

As  to  the  letterM  sage's  curious  eye. 

But  other  evils  o'er  the  steps  of  man 
Through  all  his  walks  impend ;  against  whose  might 
The  slender  darts  of  laughter  nought  avail : 
A  trivial  warfare.     Some,  like  cruel  guards,  54-5 

On  Nature's  ever-moving  throne  attend  ; 
With  mischief  arm'd  for  him  whoe'er  shall  thwart 
The  path  of  her  inexorable  wheels. 
While  she  pursues  the  work  that  must  be  done         51-i> 
Through  ocean,  earth,  and  air.    Hence  frequent  forms 
Of  woe;  the  merchant,  with  his  wealthy  bark. 
Buried  by  dashing  waves  ;  the  traveller 
Pierced  by  the  pointed  lightning  in  his  haste ; 
And  the  poor  husbandman,  with  folded  arms, 
^Jurveying  his  lost  labours,  and  a  heap  555 


IMAGINATION.        B.  II.  133 

Of  blasted  chaff  the  product  of  the  field 

Whence  he  expected  bread.     But  worse  than  these 

I  deem,  far  worse,  that  other  race  of  ills 

Which  human  kind  rear  up  among  themselves ; 

That  horrid  offspring  which  mhgovcrn'd  ivill  5Q0 

Bears  to  fantastic  error;  VICES,  CRIMES  : 

Furies  that  curse  the  earth,  and  make  the  blows. 

The  heaviest  blows,  of  Nature's  innocent  hand 

Seem  sport :  which  are  indeed  but  as  the  care 

Of  a  wise  parent,  who  solicits  good  565 

To  all  her  house,  though  haply  at  the  price 

Of  tears  and  froward  wailing  and  reproach 

From  some  unthinking  child,  whom  not  the  less 

Its  mother  destines  to  be  happy  still. 

These  sources  then  of  pain,  this  double  lot  570 

Of  evil  in  the  inheritance  of  man. 
Required  for  his  protection  no  slight  force. 
No  careless  watch.     And  therefore  was  his  breast 
Fenced  round  with  passions,  quick  to  be  alarm'd. 
Or  stubborn  to  oppose  ;  with  Fear,  more  swift         575 
Than  beacons  catching  fhme  from  hill  to  hill. 
Where  armies  land ;  with  Anger,  uncontrci'd 
As  the  young  lion  bounding  on  his  prey  ; 
With  SoRnow,  that  locks  up  the  struggling  heart, 
And  Shamp,  that  overcasts  the  drooping  eye  580 

As  with  a  cloud  of  lightening.     These  the  part 
Perform  of  eager  monitors,  and  goad 
The  soul  more  sharply  than  with  points  of  steel. 
Her  enemies  to  shun  or  to  resist. 

And  as  those  passions,  that  converse  with  guoi!,        535 
Are  good  themselves  ;  as  Move  and  Lovk  and  Joy, 
Among  the  fairest  and  the  sweetest  boons 
M 


134.         THE   PLEASURES   OF   THE 

Of  life,  we  rightly  count;  so  these,  which  guard 

Against  invading  Evil,  still  excite 

Some  pain,  some  tumult :  these,  within  the  mind     590 

Too  oft  admitted  or  too  long  retain'd. 

Shock  their  frail  seat,  and  by  their  uncurb'd  rage 

To  savages  more  fell  than  Libya  breeds. 

Transform  themselves  :  till  human  thought  becomes 

A  gloomy  ruin,  haunt  of  shapes  unbless'd,  595 

Of  self-tormenting  fiends ;  Horror,  Despair, 

Hatred,  and  wicked  Envy  :  foes  to  all 

The  works  of  Nature  and  the  gifts  of  Heaven. 

But  when  through  blameless  paths  to  righteous  ends 
Those  keener  passions  urge  the  awaken'd  soul,  600 

I  would  not,  as  ungracious  violence. 
Their  sway  describe,  nor  from  their  free  career 
The  fellowship  of  pleasure  quite  exclude. 
For  what  can  render,  to  the  self-approved. 
Their  temper  void  of  comfort,  though  in  pain  ?         605 
Who  *  knows  not  with  what  majesty  divine 
The  forms  of  Truth  and  Justice  to  the  mind 
Appear,  ennobling  oft  the  sharpest  woe 
With  triumph  and  rejoicing  ?  Who,  that  bears 
A  human  bosom,  hath  not  often  felt  CIO 

How  dear  are  all  those  ties  which  bind  our  race 
In  gentleness  together,  and  how  sweet 
Their  force,  let  Fortune's  wayward  hand  the  while 
Be  kind  or  cruel  ?  t  Ask  the  faithful  youth 
Why  the  cold  urn,  of  her  whom  long  he  loved,        01') 
So  often  fills  his  arms  ;  so  often  draws 
His  lonely  footsteps,  silent  and  unseen. 
To  pay  the  mournful  tribute  of  his  tears  ? 

•  Book  II,  line  673.        f  ^(">i  ^^  '''«  <583. 


IMAGINATION.        B.  II.  135 

O  !  he  will  tell  thee  that  the  wealth  of  worlds 
Should  ne'er  seduce  his  bosom  to  forego  620 

Those  sacff d  hours  ;  when,  stealing  from  the  noise 
Of  care  and  envy,  sweet  remembrance  sooths 
With  Virtue's  kindest  looks  his  aking  breast. 
And  turns  his  tears  to  rapture.    *  Ask  the  crowd, 
Which  flies  impatient  from  the  village  walk  625 

To  climb  the  neighbouring  cliffs,  vyhen  far  below 
The  savage  winds  have  hurl'd  upon  the  coast 
Some  helpless  bark  ;  while  holy  Pity  melts 
The  general  eye,  or  Tebkor's  icy  hijnd 
Smites  their  distorted  limbs  and  horrent  hair ;  6 JO 

While  every  mother  closer  to  her  breast 
Catcheth  her  child,  and,  pointing  where  the  waves 
Foam  through  the  shatter'd  vessel,  shrieks  aloud 
As  one  poor  wretch,  who  spreads  his  piteous  arms 
For  succour,  swallow'd  by  the  roaring  surge  ;  635 

As  now  another,  dash'd  against  the  rock. 
Drops  lifeless  down.     O  !  deemest  thou  indeed 
No  pleasing  influence  here  by  Nature  given 
To  mutual  terror  and  compassion's  tears  ? 
No  tender  charm  mysterious,  which  attracts  640 

O'er  all  that  edge  of  pain  the  social  powers. 
To  this  their  proper  action  and  their  end  ? 
Ask  t  thy  own  heart;  when,  at  the  midnight  hour. 
Slow  through  that  pensive  gloom  thy  pausing  eye. 
Led  by  the  glimmering  taper,  moves  around  6i5 

The  reverend  volumes  of  the  dead,  the  songs 
Of  Grecian  bards,  and  records  writ  by  fame 
For  Grecian  heroes,  where  the  Sovran  Power 
Of  heaven  and  earth  surveys  the  immortal  page, 
*£ooi  II,  line  693.  ^  Book  II,  line  712, 


136      THE   PLEASURES   OF  THE 

Even  as  a  father  meditating  all  650 

The  praises  of  his  son ;  and  bids  the  rest 
Of  mankind  there  the  fairest  model  learn 
Of  their  own  nature,  and  the  noblest  deeds 
Which  yet  the  world  hath  seen ; — if  then  thy  soul 
Join  in  the  lot  of  those  diviner  men  ?  655 

Say  ;  when  the  prospect  darkens  on  thy  view ; 
When  sunk  by  many  a  wound,  heroic  states 
Mourn  in  the  dust  and  tremble  at  the  frown 
Of  hard  ambition  ;  *  when  the  generous  band 
Of  youths  who  fougjit  for  freedom  and  their  sires     660 
Lie  side  by  side  in  death ;  when  brutal  force 
Usurps  the  throne  of  justice,  turns  the  pomp 
Of  guardian  power,  the  majesty  of  rule. 
The  sword,  the  laurel,  and  the  purple  robe. 
To  poor  dishonest  pageants,  to  adorn  665 

A  robber's  walk,  and  glitter  in  the  eyes 
Of  such  as  bow  the  knee;  t  when  beauteous  works. 
Rewards  of  virtue,  sculptured  forms,  which  deck'd 
With  more  than  human  grace  the  warrior's  arch, 
Or  patiiot's  tomb,  now  victims  to  appease  G70 

Tyrannic  envy,  strew  the  comijion  path 
With  awful  ruins;  when  the  Muse's  haunt. 
The  marble  porch,  where  wisdom  wont  to  talk 
With  Socrates  or  Tllly,  hears  no  more. 
Save  the  hoarse  jargon  of  contentious  monks,  675 

Or  female  superstition's  midnight  prayer  ; 
When  ruthless  havoc  from  the  hand  of  Time 
Tears  the  destroying  scythe,  with  surer  stroke 
To  mow  the  monuments  of  glory  down; 
Till  desolation  o'er  the  grass-grown  street  630 

*  Bwi  II,  li>!c  72C.  t  Hook  II,  line  734. 


IMAGINATION.        B.  II.  137 

Expands  her  raven  wings,  and,  from  the  gate 

W^here  *  senates  once  the  weal  of  nations  plann'd, 

llisseth  the  gUding  snake  through  hoary  weeds 

'J'Lal  clasp  the  mouldering  column  :  thus  when  all 

The  widely-mournful  scene  is  fix'd  within  685 

Thy  throbbing  bosom  ;  when  the  patriot's  tear 

Starts  from  thine  eye,  and  thy  extended  arm 

In  fancy,  hurls  the  thunderbolt  of  Jove 

To  fire  the  impious  wreath  on  Philip's  brow. 

Or  dash  Octavics  from  the  trophied  car;  690 

Say,  t  doth  thy  secret  soul  repine  to  taste 

The  big  distress  ?  or  vvould'st  thou  then  exchange 

Those  heart-ennobling  sorrows  for  the  lot 

Of  him  who  sits  amid  the  gaudy  herd 

Of  silent  lldtterers  bending  to  his  nod,  695 

And  o'er  them,  like  a  giant,  casts  his  eye. 

And  says  within  himself,  "  I  am  a  king, 

*'  And  wherefore  should  the  clamorous  voice  of  woe 

"  Intrude  upon  mine  ear?"  The  dregs  corrupt 

Of  barbarous  ages,  that  Circa;an  draught  700 

Of  servitude  and  folly,  have  not  yet. 

Bless 'd  be  the  IvrEUNAL  litLcr.  of  the  world  ! 

Yet  have  not  so  dishonour'd,  so  deform'd 

The  native  judgment  of  the  human  soul. 

Nor  so  eilaced  the  iaiage  of  her  sire.  705 

*  Book  II,  line  748       f   Hoai  II,  line  ~'j~. 

THE  END  OF  BOOK  THE  SECOND. 


M  2 


THE 


PLEASURES 


IMAGINATION; 

'      BOOK    THE    THIRD. 

A    FRA  GHENT. 

MDCCLXX. 

VV  Hx\T  tongue  then  may  explain  the  various  fate 

Which  reigns  o'er  earth  ?  or  who  to  mortal  eyes 

Illustrate  this  perplexing  labyrinth 

Of  joy  and  woe  through  which  the  feet  of  man 

Are  doom'd  to  wander  ?  That  Eternal  Misd  5 

From  passions,  wants,  and  envy,  far  estranged,        " 

Who  built  the  spacious  universe,  and  deck'd 

Each  part  so  richly  with  wbate'er  pertains 

To  life,  to  health,  to  pleasure ;  why  bade  he 

The  viper  EVIL,  creeping  in,  pollute  10 

The  goodly  scene,  and  with  insidious  rage. 

While  the  poor  inmate  looks  around  and  smiles. 

Dart  her  fell  sting  with  poison  to  his  soul  ? 

Hard  is  the  question,  and  from  ancient  days 

Hath  still  oppress'd  with  care  the  sage's  thought;       15 

Hath  drawn  forth  accents  from  the  poet's  lyre 

Too  sad,  too  deeply  plaintive  :  nor  did  e'er 


THE    PLEASURES,   &c.  139 

Those  chiefs  of  human  kind,  from  whom  the  light 
Of  heavenly  truth  first  gleam'd  on  barbarous  lands. 
Forget  this  dreadful  secret,  when  they  told  20 

What  wonderous  things  had  to  their  favoured  eyes 
And  ears  on  cloudy  mountain  been  reveal'd. 
Or  in  deep  cave  by  nymph  or  power  divine  ; 
Portentous  oft  and  wild.     Yet  one  I  know. 
Could  I  the  speech  of  lawgivers  assume,  25 

One  old  and  splendid  tale  I  would  record 
With  which  the  Muse  of  Solon  in  sweet  strains 
Adorn'd  this  theme  profound,  and  rendered  all 
Its  darkness,  all  its  terrors,  bright  as  noon. 
Or  gentle  as  the  golden  star  of  eve.  30 

Who  knows  not  Solon  ?  last,  and  wisest  far. 
Of  those  whom  Greece  triumphant  in  the  height 
Of  glory,  styled  her  fathers  ?  him  whose  voice 
Through  Athens  hush'd  the  storm  of  civil  wrath  ; 
Taught  ENVIOUS  Want  and  cruel  Wealth  to  join     35 
In  friendship ;  and,  with  sweet  compulsion,  tamed 
Minerva's  eager  people  to  his  laws. 
Which  their  own  goddess  in  his  breast  inspired  ? 

'Twas  now  the  time  when  his  heroic  task 
Seem'd  but  perform 'd  in  vain  :  when  sooth'd  by  years 
Of  flattering  service,  the  fond  multitude  41 

Hung  with  their  sudden  counsels  on  the  breath 
Of  great  Pisistratus  :  that  chief  renown'd. 
Whom  Hermes  and  the  Idalian  queen  had  train'd 
Even  from  his  birth  to  every  powerful  art  45 

Of  pleasing  and  persuading:  from  whose  lips 
Flow'd  eloquence,  which  like  the  vows  of  love 
Could  steal  away  suspicion  from  the  hearts 
Of  all  who  listened.    Thus  from  day  to  day 


140         THE   PLEx\SURES   OF  THE 

He  won  the  general  suffrage,  and  beheld  50 

Each  rival  overshadovv'd  and  depress'd 

Beneath  his  ampler  state  :  yet  oft  complain'd. 

As  one  less  kindly  treated,  who  had  hoped 

To  merit  favour,  but  submits  perforce 

To  find  another's  services  preferr'd ;  55 

Nor  yet  relaxeth  aught  of  faith  or  zeal. 

Then  tales  were  scatter 'd  of  his  envious  foes. 

Of  snares  that  watch'd  his  fame,  of  daggers  aim'd 

Against  his  life.     At  last  with  trembling  limbs. 

His  hair  diftused  and  wild,  his  garments  loose,  CO 

And  stain'd  with  blood  from  self-inllicted  wounds. 

He  burst  into  the  public  place,  as  there. 

There  only,  were  his  refuge  ;  and  declared 

In  broken  words,  with  sighs  of  deep  regret. 

The  mortal  danger  he  had  scarce  repell'd.  (j5 

Fired  with  his  tragic  tale,  the  indignant  crowd. 

To  guard  his  steps,  forthwitn  a  menial  band, 

Array'd  beneath  his  eye  for  deeds  of  war. 

Decree.     O  still  too  liberal  of  their  trust. 

And  oft  betray' d  by  over-grateful  love,  70 

The  generous  people  .'     Now  behold  him  fenced 

By  mercenary  weapons,  like  a  king. 

Forth  issuing  from  the  city  gate  at  eve 

To  seek  his  rural  mansion,  and  with  pomp 

Crowding  the  public  road.     The  swain  stops  short,    75 

And  sighs  :  the  officious  townsmen  stand  at  gaze 

And  shrinking  give  the  sullen  pageant  room. 

Yet  not  the  less  obsequious  was  his  brow  ; 

Nor  less  profuse  of  courteous  words  his  tongue. 

Of  gracious  gifts  his  hand  :  the  while  by  stealth,        S<) 

Like  a  small  torrent  fed  with  evening  showers. 


IMAGINATION.        B.  III.        141 

His  train  increased.     Till,  at  that  fatal  time 

Just  as  the  public  eye,  with  doubt  and  shame 

Startled,  began  to  question  what  it  saw. 

Swift  as  the  sound  of  earthquakes  rush'd  a  voice         85 

Through  Athens,  that  Pisistratus  had  fiU'd 

The  rocky  citadel  with  hostile  arms. 

Had  barr'd  the  steep  ascent,  and  sate  within 

Amid  his  hirelings,  meditating  death 

To  all  whose  stubborn  necks  his  yoke  refused.  90 

Where  then  was  Solon  ?     After  ten  long  years 

Of  absence,  full  of  haste  from  foreign  shores 

The  sage,  the  lawgiver  had  now  arrived  : 

Arrived,  alas,  to  see  that  Athens,  that 

Fair  temple  raised  by  him,  and  sacred  call'd  95 

To  LiEEUTY  and  Concord,  now  profaned 

By  savage  hate,  or  sunk  into  a  den 

Of  slaves,  who  crouch  beneath  the  master's  scourge. 

And  deprecate  his  wrath  and  court  his  chains. 

Yet  did  not  the  wise  patriot's  grief  impede  100 

His  virtuous  will,  nor  was  his  heart  inclined 

One  moment  with  such  woman-like  distress 

To  view  the  transiait  storms  of  civil  war. 

As  thence  to  yield  his  country  and  her  hopes 

To  all-devouring  bondage.     His  bright  helm,  105 

Even  while  the  traitor's  impious  act  is  told. 

He  buckles  on  his  hoary  head  :  he  girds 

With  mail  his  stooping  breast :  the  shield,  the  spear 

He  snatcheth  ;  and  with  swift  indignant  strides 

The  assembled  people  seeks  :  proclaims  aloud  110 

It  was  no  time  for  counsel  :  in  their  spears 

Lay  all  their  prudence  now  :  the  tyrant  yet 

Was  not  so  firmly  seated  on  his  throne, 


U2  THE  PLEASURES   OF  THE 

But  that  one  shock  of  their  united  force 
Would  dash  hinti  from  the  summit  of  his  pride         115 
Headlong  and  groveling  in  the  dust.     What  else 
Can  re-assert  the  lost  Athenian  name 
So  cheaply  to  the  laughter  of  the  world 
Betray'd ;  by  guile  beneath  an  infant's  faith 
So  mock'd  and  scorn'd  ?     Away  then  :  Freedom  now 
And  Safety  dwell  not  but  with  Fame  in  arms  :         121 
Myself  will  shew  you  where  their  mansion  lies. 
And  through  the  walks  of  Danger  or  of  Death 
Conduct  you  to  them.     While  he  spake,  through  all 
Their  crowded  ranks  his  quick  sagacious  eye  125 

He  darted ;  where  no  cheerful  voice  w  as  heard 
Of  social  daring ;  no  stretch'd  arm  was  seen 
Hastening  their  common  task  :  but  pale  mistrust 
Wrinkled  each  brow  :  they  shook  their  heads,  and  dO'Wn 
Their  slack  hands  hung  :    colds  sighs  and  vvhisper'd 
doubts  130 

From  breath  to  breath  stole  round.  The  sage  mean  time 
Look'd  speechless  on,  while  his  big  bosom  heaved. 
Struggling  with  sharne  and  sorrow  :  till  at  last 
A  tear  broke  forth ;  and,  O  immortal  shades, 
O  Theseus,  he  exclaim'd,  O  Coduus,  where,  135 

W^here  are  ye  now  ?  behold  for  what  ye  toil'd 
Through  life  ?  behold  for  whom  ye  chose  to  die. 
No  more  he  added  ;  but  with  lonely  steps 
Weary  and  slow,  his  silver  beard  depress'd. 
And  his  stern  eyes  bent  heedless  on  the  ground,       140 
Back  to  his  silent  dwelling  he  repair'd. 
There  o'er  the  gate,  his  armour,  as  a  man 
Whom  from  the  service  of  the  war  his  chief 
Dismisseth  after  no  inglorious  toil. 


IMAGINATION.        B.  III.  143 

He  fix'd  in  general  view.     One  wishful  look  145 

He  sent,  unconscious,  toward  the  public  place 
At  parting  :  then  beneath  his  quiet  roof 
Without  a  word,  without  a  sigh,  retired. 

Scarce  had  the  morrow's  sun  his  golden  rays 
From,  sweet  Hymettus  darted  o'er  the  fanes  150 

Of  Cecrops  to  the  Salaminian  shores. 
When,  lo,  on  Solon's  threshold  met  the  feet 
Of  four  Athenians,  by  the  same  sad  care 
Conducted  all ;  than  whom  the  state  beheld 
None  nobler.     First  came  Megacles,  the  son  155 

Of  great  ALCMiEON,  whom  the  Lydian  king 
The  mild,  unhappy  Crcesus,  in  his  days 
Of  glory  had  with  costly  gifts  adorn 'd, 
I^air  vessels,  splendid  garments,  tinctured  webs  ' 

And  heaps  of  treasured  gold  beyond  the  lot  1 60 

Of  many  sovereigns ;  thus  requiting  well 
That  hospitable  favour  which  erewhile 
Alcm.'eon  to  his  messengers  had  shewn, 
Whom  he  with  offerings  woithy  of  the  god 
Sent  from  his  throne  in  Sardis  to  revere  165 

Apollo's  Delphic  shrine.     With  Megacles 
Approach'd  his  son,  whom  Agauista  bore. 
The  virtuous  child  of  Clisthenes,  whose  hand 
Of  Grecian  sceptres  the  most  ancient  far 
In  Sicyon  sway'd  :  but  greater  fame  he  drew  170 

From  arms  control'd  by  justice,  from  the  love 
Of  the  wise  Muses,  and  the  unenvied  wreath 
Which  glad  Olympia  gave.     For  thither  once 
His  warlike  steeds  the  hero  led,  and  there 
Contended  through  the  tumult  of  the  course  175 

With  skilful  wheels.     Then  victor  at  the  goal. 


U+        THE    PLEASURES   OF  THE 

Amid  the  applauses  of  assembled  Greece, 

High  on  his  car  he  stood  and  waved  his  arm. 

Silence  ensued  :  when  strait  the  herald's  voice 

Was  heard,  inviting  every  Grecian  youth,  180 

Whom  Clisthenes  content  might  call  his  son. 

To  visit,  ere  twice  thirty  days  were  past. 

The  towers  of  Sicyon.     There  the  chief  decreed. 

Within  the  circuit  of  the  following  year. 

To  join  at  Hymen's  altar,  hand  in  hand  185 

With  his  fair  daughter,  him  among  the  guests 

Whom  worthiest  he  should  deem.     Forthwith  from  all 

The  bounds  of  Greece  the  ambitious  wooers  came  : 

From  rich  Hesperia  j  from  the  lllyrian  shore 

Where  Epidamnus  over  Adria's  surge  1 90 

Looks  on  the  setting  sun  ;  from  those  brave  tribes 

Chaonian  or  Molossian,  whom  the  race 

Of  great  Achilles  governs,  glorying  still 

In  Troy  o'erthrown  ;  from  rough  j^itolia,  nurse 

Of  men  who  first  among  the  Greeks  threw  off  195 

The  yoke  of  kings,  to  commerce  and  to  arms 

Devoted;  from  Thessalia's  fertile  meads. 

Where  flows  Peneus  near  the  lofty  walls 

Of  Cranon  old  ;  from  strong  Eretria,  queen 

Of  all  Eubcean  cities,  who,  sublime  200 

On  the  steep  margin  of  Euripus,  views 

Across  the  tide  the  Marathonian  plain. 

Not  yet  the  haunt  of  glory.     Athens  too, 

Minerva's  care,  among  her  graceiul  sons 

Found  equal  lovers  for  the  princely  maid  :  203 

Nor  was  proud  Argos  wanting ;  nor  the  domes 

Of  sacred  Elis;  nor  the  Arcadian  groves 

That  oversl'.ade  Alpheus,  echoing  o(l 


IMAGINATION.        B.  HI.         l  i^" 

Some  shepherd's  song.    But  through  the  illustrious  band 
Was  none  who  might  with  Megacles  compare         210 
In  all  the  honours  of  unblemish'd  youth. 
His  was  the  beauteous  bride  :  and  now  their  son. 
Young  Clisthenes,  betimes,  at  Solon's  gate 
Stood  anxious  ;  leaning  forward  on  the  arm 
Of  his  great  sire,  with  earnest  eyes  that  ask'd  215 

When  the  slow  hinge  would  turn,  with  restless  feet. 
And  cheeks  now  pale,  now  glowing :  for  his  heart 
Tkrobb'd,  full  of  bursting  passions ;  anger,  grief 
With  scorn  imbitter'd,  by  the  generous  boy 
Scarce  understood,  but  which,  like  noble  seeds,        220 
Are  destined  for  his  country  and  himself 
In  riper  years  to  bring  forth  fruits  divine 
Of  libefty  and  glory.     Next  appear'd 
Two  brave  companions  whom  one  mother  bore 
To  difterent  lords  ;  but  whom  the  better  ties  225 

Of  firm  esteem  and  friendship  render'd  more 
Than  brothers  :  first  Miltiades,  who  drew 
From  godlike  TEacus  his  ancient  line ; 
That  ^Acus  whose  imimpeach'd  renown 
For  sanctity  and  justice  won  the  lyre  230 

Of  elder  bards  to  celebrate  him  throned 
In  Hades  o'er  the  dead,  where  his  decrees 
The  guilty  soul  within  the  burning  gates 
Of  Tartarus  compel,  or  send  the  good 
To  inhabit  with  eternal  health  and  peace  235 

llie  vallies  of  Elysium.     From  a  stem 
So  sacred,  ne'er  could  worthier  scyon  spring 
Than  this  Miltiades  ;  whose  aid  ere-long 
'Fhe  chiefs  of  Thrace,  already  on  their  ways 
Sent  by  the  inspired  foreknowing  maid,  who  sits      210 
N 


liG  THE  PLEASURES   OF  THE 

Upon  the  Delphic  tripod,  shall  implore 

To  wield  their  sceptre,  and  the  rural  wealth 

Of  fruitful  Chersonesus  to  protect 

With  arms  and  laws.     But,  nothing  careful  now 

Save  for  his  injured  country,  here  he  stands  245 

In  deep  solicitude  with  Cimon  joinM  : 

Unconscious  both  what  widely-different  lots. 

Await  them,  taught  by  nature  as  they  are 

To  know  one  common  good,  one  common  ill. 

For  CnioN,  not  his  valour,  not  his  birth  250 

Derived  from  Codrus,  not  a  thousand  gifts 

Dealt  round  him  with  a  wise,  benignant  hand. 

No,  nor  the  Olympic  olive  by  himself 

From  his  own  brow  transferr'd  to  soolh  the  mind 

Of  this  PisisTRATUs,  can  long  preserve  *      255 

From  the  fell  envy  of  the  Tyrant's  sons. 

And  their  assassin  dagger.     But  if  death 

Obscure  upon  his  gentle  steps  attend. 

Yet  fate  an  ample  recompense  prepares 

In  his  victorious  son,  that  other  great  26© 

INIiLTiADEs,  who  o'er  the  very  throne 

Of  glory  shall  svith  Time's  assiduous  hand 

In  adamantine  characters  engrave 

The  name  of  Athens  ;  and  by  freedom  arm'd 

'Gainst  the  gigantic  pride  of  Asia's  King,  2G5 

Shall  all  the  atchievements  of  the  heroes  old 

Surmount;  of  Hercules,  of  all  who  sail'd 

From  Thessaly  with  Jason,  all  who  fought 

For  empire  or  for  fame,  at  Thebes  or  Troy. 

Such  were  the  patriots  who  within  the  porch        270 
Of  Solon  had  assembled.     But  the  gate 
Now  opens,  and  across  the  ample  floor 


IMAGINATION.        B.  III.  U7 

Straight  they  proceed  into  an  open  space 

Bright  with  the  beams  of  morn  :  a  verdant  spot. 

Where  stands  a  rural  altar,  piled  with  sods  275 

Cut  from  the  grassy  turf  and  girt  with  wreaths 

Of  branching  palm.     Here  SotON's  self  they  found 

Clad  in  a  robe  of  purple  pure,  and  deck'd 

With  leaves  of  clive  on  his  reverend  brow. 

He  bow'd  before  the  altar,  and  o'er  cakes  280 

Of  barley  from  two  earthen  vessels  pour'd 

Of  honey  and  of  milk  a  plenteous  strean) ; 

Calling  meantime  the  Muses  to  accept 

His  siinple  offering,  by  no  victim  tinged 

With  blood,  nor  sullied  by  destroying  fire  ;  285 

But  such  as  for  himself  Apollo  claims 

In  his  own  Delos,  where  his  favourite  haunt 

Is  thence  the  "Altar  of  the  Pious"  named. 

Unseen  the  guests  drew  near,  and  silent  view'd 

That  worship;  till  the  hero-priest  his  eye  290 

Turn'd  toward  a  seat  on  which  prepared  there  lay 

A  branch  of  laurel.     Then  his  friends  confcss'd 

Before  him  stood.     Backward  his  step  he  drew. 

As  loath  that  care  or  tumult  should  approach 

Tho>e  early  rites  divine  :  but  soon  their  looks,  295 

ik>  anxious,  and  their  hands,  held  forth  with  such 

Desponding  gesture,  bring  him  on  perforce 

To  speak  to  their  a/fliction.     Are  ye  come. 

He  cried,  to  mourn  with  me  this  common  shame  ? 

Or  ask  ye  some  new  efibrt  which  may  break  SOU 

Our  fetters  ?  Know  then,  of  the  public  cause 

Not  for  yon  traitor's  cunning,  or  his  might 

Do  I  despair  :  nor  could  I  wish  from  Jove 

Aught  dearer,  than  at  this  late  hour  of  life. 


148         THE  PLEASURES   OF    THE      ' 

As  once  by  laws,  so  now  by  strenuous  arms  305 

From  impious  violation  to  assert 

The  rights  our  fathers  left  us.     But,  alas  ! 

What  arms  ?  or  who  shall  wield  them  ?  Ye  beheld 

The  Athenian  people.     Many  bitter  days 

IMust  pass,  and  many  wounds  from  cruel  pride         310 

Be  felt,  ere  yet  their  partial  hearts  find  room 

For  just  resentment,  or  tlieir  hands  indure 

To  smite  this  tyrant  brood,  so  near  to  all 

Their  hopes,  so  oft  admired,  so  long  beloved. 

That  TIME  WILL  COME,  however.     Be  it  yours  315 

To  watch  its  fair  approach,  and  urge  it  on 

With  honest  prwdence  :  me  it  ill  beseems 

Again  to  supplicate  the  unwilling  crowd 

To  rescue  from  a  vile  deceiver's  hold 

That  envied  power  which  once  with  eager  zeal         320 

They  olFer'd  to  mj'self ;  nor  can  I  plunge 

In  counsels  deep  and  various,  nor  prepare 

For  distant  wars,  thus  faltering  as  I  tread 

On  life's  last  verge,  ere-long  to  join  the  shades 

Of  Mi:;o9  and  Lvcurgus.     But  behold  325 

What  care  employs  me  now.     My  vows  I  pay 

To  the  sweet  Muses,  teachers  of  my  youth 

And  solace  of  my  age.     If  right  I  deem 

Of  the  still  voice  that  whispers  at  my  heart. 

The  immortal  sisters  have  not  quite  withdrawn  '       330 

Their  old  harmonious  influence.     Let  your  tongues 

With  sacred  silence  favour  what  I  speak. 

And  haply  shall  my  faithful  lips  be  taught 

To  unfold  celestial  counsels,  which  may  arm. 

As  with  impenetrable  steel,  your  breasts  335 

For  the  long  strife  before  you,  and  repel 


IMAGINATION    BOOK    III.        149 

The  darts  of  adverse  fate.     He  said,  and  snatch'd 

The  laurel  bough,  and  sate  in  silence  down, 

Fix'd,  vvrapp'd  in  solemn  musing,  full  before 

The  sun,  who  now  from  all  his  radiant  orb  340 

Drove  the  gray  clouds,  and  pour'd  his  genial  light 

Upon  the  breast  of  Solon.     Solon  raised 

Aloft  the  leafy  rod,  and  thus  began. 

Ye  beauteous  offspring  of  Olympian  Jove 
And  Memory  divine,  Pierian  Maids,  345 

Hear  me,  propitious.     In  the  morn  of  life. 
When  hope  shone  bright  and  all  the  prospect  smiled. 
To  your  sequester *d  mansion  oft  my  steps 
Were  turn'd,  O  Mt-sES,  and  within  your  gate 
My  offerings  paid.     Ye  taught  me  then,  with  strains 
Of  flowing  harmony  to  soften  war's  351 

Dire  voice,  or  in  fair  colours,  that  might  charm 
The  public  eye,  to  clothe  the  form  austere 
Of  civil  counsel.     Now  my  feeble  age 
Neglected,  and  supplanted  of  the  hope  355 

On  which  it  lean'd,  yet  sinks  not ;  but  to  you. 
To  your  mild  wisdom  flies,  refuge  beloved 
Ot  solitude  and  silence.     Ye  can  teach  "^ 

The  visions  of  my  betd,  whate'er  the"  gods 
In  the  rude  ages  of  the  world  inspired,  30O 

Or  the  first  heroes  acted  :  ye  can  make 
The  morning  light  more  gladsome  to  my  sense. 
Than  ever  it  appear'd  to  active  youth 
Pursuing  careless  plea-sure  :  ye  can  give 
To  this  long  leisure,  these  unheeded  hours,  3(J5 

A  labour  as  sublime,  as  when  the  sons 
Of  Athens,  throug'd  and  s})eechless,  round  me  stood 
To  hear  pronounced  for  all  their  future  deeds 


150         THE   PLEASURES   OF   THE 

The  bounds  of  Right  and  Wrong.    Celestial  Poweks. 

I  feel  that  ye  are  near  me  :  and  behold,  370 

To  meet  your  energy  divine,  I  bring 

A  high  and  sacred  theme  ;  not  le^s  than  those 

Which  to  the  eternal  custody  of  Fame 

Your  lips  intrusted,  when  of  old  ye  deign'd 

With  Ohpheus  or  with  Homer  to  frequent  375 

The  groves  of  Haemus  or  the  Chian  shore. 

Ye  know.  Harmonious  Maids  !  (for  w  hat  of  all 
My  various  life  was  e'er  from-you  estranged  ?) 
Oft  hath  my  solitary  song  to  you 
Reveal'd  that  duteous  pride,  which  turn'd  my  steps 
To  willing  exile  ;  earnest  to  withdraw  38 1 

From  envy  and  the  disappointed  thirst 
Of  lucre  J  lest  the  bold  familiar  strife. 
Which  in  the  eye  of  Athens  tbey  upheld 
Against  her  legislator,  should  impair  38.5 

With  trivial  doubt  the  reverence  of  his  laws. 
To  Egypt  therefore  through  the  ^gean  isles 
My  course  I  steer'd,  and  by  the  banks  of  Nile 
Dwelt  in  Canopus,    Thence  the  hallow 'd  domes 
Of  Sais,  and  the  rites  to  Isis  paid,  390 

I  sought,  and  in  her  temple's  silent  courts. 
Through  many  changing  moons,  attentive  beard 
The  venerable  Sonchis,  while  his  tongue 
At  morn  or  midnight  the  deep  story  told 
Of  her  who  represents  whate'er  has  been,  395 

Or  Is,  or  shall  be  ;  whose  mysterious  veil 
?so  mortal  hand  hath  ever  yet  removed. 
By  him  exhorted,  southward  to  the  walls 
Of  On  I  pass'd,  the  city  of  the  sun. 
The  cver-youtbful  god.     'Tvvas  there  amid  400 


IMAGINATION.        B.  III.  151 

His  priests  and  sages,  who  the  live-long  night 

Watch  the  di-ead  movement?  of  the  starrj'  sphere. 

Or  who  in  vvonderous  fables  half  disclose 

The  secrets  of  the  elements,  'twas  there 

That  great  Pse.vophis  taught  my  raptured  ears  405 

The  fame  of  old  Atlantis,  of  her  chiefs. 

And  her  pure  laws,  the  first  which  earth  obey'd. 

Deep  in  my  bosom  sunk  the   noble  tale  ; 

And  often,  while  I  listen'd,  did  my  mind 

Foretel  with  what  delight  her  own  free  lyre  410 

Should  sometime  for  an  Attic  audience  raise 

Anew  that  lofty  scene,  and  from  their  tombs 

Call  forth  those  ancient  demigods  to  speak 

Of  Justice  and  the  hidden  Providence 

That  walks  among  mankind.     But  yet  meantime     415 

The  mystic  pomp  of  Ammon's  gloomy  sons 

Became  less  pleasing.     With  contempt  I  gazed 

On  that  tame  garb,  and  those  unvarying  paths. 

To  which  the  double  yoke  of  king  and  priest 

Had  cramp'd  the  sullen  race.     At  last  with  hymns 

Invoking  our  own  Pallas  and  the  gods  421 

Of  cheerful  Greece,  a  glad  farewell  I  gave 

To  Egypt,  and  before  the  southern  wind 

Spread  my  full  sails.     What  climes  1  then  surveyed. 

What  fortunes  I  encounter 'd  in  the  realm  425 

Of  Cuoisus  or  upon  the  Cyprian  shore. 

The  Muse,  who  prompts  my  Iwsom,  doth  not  now 

Consent  that  I  reveal.     But  when  at  length 

Ten  times  the  sun  returning  from  the  south  429 

Had  strow'd  with  flowers  the  verdant  earth,  and  fiU'U 

The  groves  with  music,  pleased  I  then  beheld 

'I  he  term  of  those  long  errors  drawing  nigh. 


152       THE  PLEASURES   OF  THE 

Nor  yet,  I  said,  will  I  sit  down  within 

The  walls  of  Athens,  till  my  feet  have  trod 

The  Cretan  soil,  have  pierced  those  reverend  haunts 

Whence  law  and  civil  concord  issued  forth  436 

As  from  their  ancient  home,  and  still  to  Greece 

Their  wisest,  loftiest  discipline  proclaim. 

Strait  where  Amnisus,  mart  of  wealthy  ships. 

Appears  beneath  famed  Cnossus  and  her  towers.       440 

Like  the  fair  handmaid  of  a  stately  queen, 

I  check'd  my  prow,  and  thence  with  eager  steps 

The  city  of  Mjnos  enter'd.     O  ye  gods. 

Who  taught  the  leaders  of  the  simpler  time 

By  WRITTEN  WORDS  to  curb  the  untoward  will  445 

Of  mortals!  how  within  that  generous  isle 

Have  ye  the  triumphs  of  your  power  display'd 

Munificent !  Those  splendid  merchants,  lords 

Of  traffic  and  the  sea,  with  what  delight 

I  saw  them  at  their  public  meal,  like  sons  450 

Of  the  same  household,  join  the  plainer  sort 

Whose  wealth  was  only  freedom  !  whence  to  these 

Vile  Envy,  and  to  those  fantastic  Pride, 

Alike  was  strange  ;  but  noble  concord  still 

Cherish'd  the  strength  untamed,  the  rustic  faith,      455 

Of  their  first  fathers.     Then  the  growing  race. 

How  pleasing  to  behold  them  in  their  schools. 

Their  sports,  their  labours,  ever  placed  within, 

O  shade  of  Minos,  thy  controling  eye  ! 

Here  was  a  docile  band  in  tuneful  tones  460 

Thy  laws  pronouncing,  or  with  lofty  hymns 

Praising  the  bounteous  gods,  or,  to  preserve 

Their  country's  heroes  from  oblivious  night. 

Resounding  what  the  Muse  inspired  of  old  ; 


"IMAGINATION.        B.  III.        155 

There,  on  the  verge  of  manhood,  others  met,  ^65 

In  heavy  armour  through  the  heats  of  noon 

To  march,  the  rugged  mountains  height  to  climb 

With  measured  swiftness,  from  the  hard- bent  bow 

To  send  resistless  arrows  to  their  mark. 

Or  for  the  fame  of  prowess  to  contend,  470 

Now  wrestling,  now  with  fists  and  staves  opposed. 

Now  with  the  biting  falchion,  and  the  fence 

Of  brazen  shields;  while  still  the  warbling  flute 

Presided  o'er  the  combat,  breathing  strains 

Grave,  solemn,  soft;  and  changing  headlong  spite    475 

To  thoughtful  resolution  cool  and  clear. 

Such  I  beheld  those  islanders  renown'd. 

So  tutorM  from  their  birth  to  meet  in  war 

Each  bold  invader,  and  in  peace  to  guard 

That  living  flame  of  reverence  for  their  laics  480 

Which  nor  the  storms  of  fortune,  nor  the  flood 

Of  foreign  wealth  diffused  o'er  all  the  land. 

Could  quench  or  slacken.     First  of  human  names 

In  every  Cretan's  heart  was  Minos  still ;  485 

And  holiest  far,  of  what  the  sun  surveys 

Through  his  whole  course,  were  those  primeval  seats 

Which  with  religious  footsteps  he  had  taught 

Their  sires  to  approach  ;  the  wild  Dictaean  cave 

Where  Jove  was  born  ;  the  eververdant  meads        490 

Of  Ida,  and  the  spacious  grotto,  where 

His  active  youth  he  pass'd,  and  where  his  throne 

Yet  stands  mysterious  ;  whither  Minos  came 

Each  ninth  returning  year;  the  king  of  gods 

And  mortals  there  in  secret  to  consult  495 

On  Justice,  and  the  tables  of  his  law 

To  inscribe  anew.     Oft  also  with  like  zeal 


I3t        THE   PLEASURES   OF  THE 

Great  Rhea's  mansion  from  the  Cnossian  gates 

Men  visit ;  nor  less  oft  the  antique  fane 

Built  on  that  sacred  spot,  along  the  banks  500 

Of  shady  Theron,  where  benignant  Jove 

And  his  majestic  consort  join'd  their  hands 

And  spoke  their  nuptial  vows.     Alas,  'twas  there 

That  the  dire  fame  of  Athens  sunk  in  bonds 

I  first  received;  what  time  an  annual  feast  505 

Had  summon'd  all  the  genial  country  round. 

By  sacrifice  and  pomp  to  bring  to  mind 

That  first  great  spousal ;  while  the  enamour'd  youths 

And  virgins,  with  the  priest  before  the  shrine, 

Observe  the  same  pure  ritual,  and  invoke  510 

The  same  glad  omens.     There,  among  the  crowd 

Of  strangers  from  those  naval  cities  drawn, 

'^"bich  deck,  like  gems,  the  island's  northern  shore, 

A  merchant  of  ^Egina  I  descried. 

My  ancient  host.     But,  forward  as  I  sprung  515 

To  meet  him,  he,  with  dark  dejected  brow, 

Stopp'd  half-averse;  and,  O  i^thenian  guest. 

He  said,  art  thou  in  Crete  ;  these  joyful  rites 

Partaking  ?     Know,  thy  laws  are  blotted  out : 

Thy  country  kneels  before  a  tyrant's  throne.  520 

He  added  names  of  men,  with  hostile  deeds 

Disastrous;  which  obscure  and  indistinct 

1  heard  :  for,  while  he  spake  my  heart  grew  cold 

And  my  eyes  dim  :  the  altars  and  their  train 

No  more  were  present  to  me:  how  I  fared,  525 

Or  whither  turn'd,  I  know  not ;  nor  recall 

Aught  of  those  moments  other  than  the  sense 

Of  one  who  struggles  in  oppressive  sleep 

And  from  the  toils  of  some  distressful  dream 


IMAGINATION,        B.  III.         155 
To  break  away,  with  palpitating  heart,  5^0 

Weak  limbs,  and  temples  bath'd  in  death-like  dew. 
Makes  many  a  painful  effort.     When  at  last 
The  sun  and  nature's  face  again  appear 'd. 
Not  far  I  found  me ;  where  the  public  path. 
Winding  through  cypress  groves  and  swelling  meads. 
From  Cnossus  to  the  cave  of  Jove  ascends.  530 

Heedless  I  followed  on ;  till  soon  the  skirts 
Of  Ida  rose  before  me,  and  the  vault 
Wide-opening,  pierced  the  mountain's  rocky  side. 
Entering  within  the  threshold,  on  the  ground  540 

I  flung  me,  sad,  faint,  overworn  with  toil. 


THE 
PLEASURES 


IMAGINATION: 

BOOK    THE    FOURTH. 

A     FRAGMENT. 

MDCCLXX. 

V/NE  effort  more,  one  cheerful  sally  more. 

Our  destined  course  will  finish ;  and  in  peace 

Then,  for  an  offering  sacred  to  the  powers 

Who  lent  us  gracious  guidance,  we  will  then 

Inscribe  a  monument  of  deathless  praise  ;  5 

O  my  adventurous  song  ! — with  steady  speed 

Long  hast  thou,  on  an  untried  voyage  bound, 

Saird  between  earth  and  heaven  :  hast  now  survey'd, 

Stretch'd  out  beneath  thee,  all  the  mazy  tracts 

Of  Passion  and  Opinion;  like  a  waste  10 

Of  sands  and  flowery  lawns  and  tangling  woodsy 

Where  mortals  roam  bewilder'd  :  and  hast  now 

Exulting  soar'd  among  the  worlds  above. 

Or  hover'd  near  the  eternal  gates  of  heaven, 

If  haply  the  discourses  of  the  gods,  ]  5 

A  curious,  but  an  unpresuming  guest. 

Thou  might'st  partake  j  and  carry  back  some  strain 


THE   PLEASURES,  '&c.  157 

Of  divine  wisdom,  lawful  to  repeat. 

And  apt  to  be  conceived  of  man  below. 

A  different  task  remains;  the  secret  paths  20 

Of  early  genius  to  explore  :  to  trace 

Those  haunts  where  Fancy  her  predestined  sons, 

Like  to  the  Demigods  of  old,  doth  nurse 

Remote  from  eyes  profane.     Ye  happy  souls. 

Who  now  her  tender  discipline  obey,  25 

Where  dwell  ye  ?  What  wild  river's  brink  at  eve 

Imprint  your  steps  .•'  What  solemn  groves  at  noon 

Use  ye  to  visit,  often  breaking  forth 

In  rapture  'mid  your  dilatory  walk, 

Or  musing,  as  in  slumber,  on  the  green  ?  SO 

— Would  I  again  were  with  you  ! — O  ye  dales 

Of  Tyne,  and  ye  most  ancient  woodlands ;  where 

Oft  as  the  giant  flood  obliquely  strides. 

And  his  banks  open,  and  his  lawns  extend. 

Stops  short  the  pleased  traveller  to  view  55 

Presiding  o'er  the  scene  some  rustic  tower 

Founded  by  Norman  or  by  Saxon  hands  : 

0  ye  Northumbrian  shades,  which  overlook 
The  rocky  pavement  and  the  mossy  falls 

Of  solitary  Wensbeck's  limpid  stream;  40 

How  gladly  I  recall  your  well-known  seats 
Beloved  of  old,  and  thai  delightful  time 
When  all  alone,  for  many  a  summer's  dav, 

1  wander'd  through  your  calm  recesses,  led 

In  silence  by  some  powerful  hand  unseen.  4.5 

Nor  will  I  e'er  forget  you.     Nor  shall  e'er 
The  graver  tasks  of  manhood,  or  the  advice 
Of  vulgar  wisdom,  move  me  to  disclaim 
Those  studies  which  pcssess'd  me  in  the  dawn 
O 


158         THE   PLEASURES   OF  THE 

Of  life,  and  fix'd  the  colour  of  my  mind  50 

For  every  future  year  :  whence  even  now 

From  sleep  I  rescue  the  clear  hours  of  morn. 

And,  while  the  world  around  lies  overwhelm'd 

In  idle  darkness,  am  alive  to  thoughts 

Of  honourable  Fame,  of  Truth  divine  "  55 

Or  Moral,  and  of  Minds  to  Virtue  won 

By  the  sweet  magic  of  harmonious  verse  ; 

Tlie  themes  which  now  expect  us.     For  thus  far 

On  general  habits,  and  on  arts  which  grow 

Spontaneous  in  the  minds  of  all  mankind,  60 

Hath  dwelt  our  argument ;  and  how  self-taught. 

Though  seldom  conscious  of  their  own  employ. 

In  Nature's  or  in  Fortune's  changeful  scene 

Men  learn  to  judge  of  Beauty,  and  acquire 

Those  forms  set  up,  as  idols  in  the  soul  65 

For  love  and  zealous  praise.     Yet  indistinct. 

In  vulgar  bosoms,  and  unnoticed  lie 

These  pleasing  stores,  unless  the  casual  force 

Of  ihings  external  prompt  the  heedless  mind 

To  recognize  her  wealth.     But  some  there  are  70 

Conscious  of  nature,  and  the  rule  which  man 

O'er  nature  holds  :  some  who,  within  themselves 

Retiring  from  the  trivial  scenes  of  chance 

And  momentary  passion,  can  at  will 

Call  up  these  fair  exemplars  of  the  mind  ;  75 

Review  their  features ;  scan  the  secret  laws 

Which  bind  them  to  each  other  :  and  display 

By  Forms,  or  Sounds,  or  Colours,  to  the  sense 

Of  all  the  world  their  latent  charms  display : 

Even  as  in  Nature's  frame  (if  such  a  word,  80 

If  such  a  word,  so  bold,  may  from  the  lips 


IMAGINATION.        B.  IV.  159 

Of  man  proceed)  as  in  this  outward  frame 

Of  things,  the  great  Artificer  pourtrays 

flis  own  immense  idea.     Various  names 

These  among  mortals  bear,  as  various  signs  85 

They  use,  and  by  peculiar  organs  speak 

To  human  sense.     There  are  who  by  the  flight 

Of  air  through  tubes  with  moving  stops  distinct. 

Or  by  extended  chords,  in  measure  taught 

To  vibrate,  can  assemble  powerful  sounds  90 

Expressing  every  temper  of  the  mind 

From  every  cause,  and  charming  all  the  soul 

With  passion  void  of  care.     Others  mean  time 

The  rugged  mass  of  metal,  wood,  or  stone 

Patiently  taming ;  or  with  easier  hand  95 

Describing  lines,  and  with  more  ample  scope 

Uniting  colours  ;  can  to  general  sight 

Produce  those  permanent  and  perfect  forms. 

Those  characters  of  heroes  and  of  gods. 

Which  from  the  crude  materials  of  the  world  100 

Their  own  high  minds  created.     But  the  chief 

Are  Poets  ;  eloquent  men,  who  dwell  on  earth 

To  clothe  wliateVr  the  soul  admires  or  loves 

With  LANGUAGE  and  with  numbers.     Hence  to  these 

A  field  is  open'd  wide  as  nature's  sphere  j  105 

Nay,  wider  :  various  as  the  sudden  acts 

Of  human  wit,  and  vast  as  the  demands 

Of  human  will.     The  Bard  nor  length,  nor  depth. 

Nor  place,  nor  form  controls.     To  eyes,  to  ears. 

To  every  organ  of  the  copious  mind,  1 10 

He  ollereth  all  his  treasures.     Him  the  hours. 

The  seasons  him  obey  :  and  changeful  Time 

Sees  him  at  will  keep  measure  with  bis  flight. 


160  THE  PLEASURES   &c. 

At  will  outstrip  it.    To  enhance  his  toil. 

He  summoneth,  from  the  uttermost  extent  1 15 

Of  things  which  God  hath  taught  him,  every  form 

Auxiliar,  every  power ;  and  all  beside 

Excludes  imperious.     His  prevailing  hand 

Gives,  to  corporeal  essence,  life  and  sense 

And  every  stately  function  of  the  Soul.  120 

The  Soul  itself  to  him  obsequious  lies. 

Like  Matter's  passive  heap ;  and  as  he  wills. 

To  reason  and  affection  he  assigns 

Their  just  alliances,  their  just  degrees  : 

Whence  his  peculiar  honours  ;  whence  the  race        123 

Of  men  who  people  his  delightful  world. 

Men  genuine  and  according  to  themselves. 

Transcend  as  far  the  uncertain  sons  of  earth. 

As  earth  itself  to  his  delightful  world 

The  palm  of  spotless  Beauty  doth  resign. 


HYMN 


NAIADS, 


MDCCXLVI. 

ARGUMENT. 

The  Nymphs,  who  preside  over  springs  and  rivulets,  are  addressed 
at  day-break,  in  honour  cf  their  several  functions,  and  of  the 
relations  which  they  bfar  to  the  natural  and  to  the  moral  workl. 
Their  or'gin  is  deduced  from  the  firFt  allegorical  dfities,  <r  powers 
©f  nature}  according  to  the  doctrine  of  the  old  niythoJosical  jwets, 
concerning  the  generation  of  the  gods  and  the  rise  of  things.  They 
are  then  successively  considered,  as  giving  motion  to  the  air  and 
exciting  summtT-breczes ;  as  nourishing  and  beautifying  the  ve- 
getable creation;  as  cuntribating  to  the  fulness  of  navir;ab!e  rivers 
and  consequently  to  the  maintenance  of  commerce ;  and  by  that 
means,  to  the  maritime  part  of  military  power.  Ne.\t  is  repre- 
sented their  favourable  influence  upon  hcaltli,  when  assisted  by 
reral  exercise  :  which  introduces  tiieir  connection  with  the  art 
of  physic,  and  the  happy  tfTccts  of  mineral  medicinal  springs. 
Lastly  they  are  celebrated  for  the  fricndshit)  vhich  the  Muses 
bear  them,  and  for  the  true  inspiration  which  temperance  only 
can  receive :  in  opposition  to  the  enthusiasm  of  the  more  licen- 
tious poets, 

' -^'ER  ponder  eastern  hill  the  twilight  pale 
Walks  forth  from  darkness;  and  the  (icd  of  day, 
With  bright  Abtraia  seated  by  liis  t-ide, 
Wait>  yet  to  leave  the  ocean.     'I'arry,  Nymphs, 
Yc  Nympus,  ye  bluc-cycd  progeny  of  Thames,  b 

O  2 


162  HYMN   TO   THE   NAIADS. 

Who  now  the  mazes  of  this  rugged  heath 

Trace  with  your  fleeting  steps;  who  all  night  long 

Repeat,  anaid  tlie  cool  and  tranquil  air. 

Your  lonely  murmurs,  tarry  :  and  receive 

My  offer'd  lay.     To  pay  you  homage  due,  10 

I  leave  the  gates  of  sleep ;  nor  shall  my  lyre 

Too  far  into  the  splendid  hours  of  morn 

Engage  your  audience  :  my  observant  hand 

Shall  close  the  strain  ere  any  sultry  beam 

Approach  you.     To  your  subterranean  haunts  15 

Ye  then  may  timely  steal ;  to  pace  with  care 

The  humid  sands;  to  loosen  from  the  soil 

The  bubbling  sources ;  to  direct  the  rills 

To  meet  in  wider  channels ;  or  beneath 

Some  grotto's  dripping  arch,  at  height  of  noon  20 

To  slumber,  Rhelter'd  from  the  burning  lieaven. 

Where  shall  my  song  begin,  ye  Nymphs  ?  or  end  ? 
Wide  is  your  praise  and  copious — First  of  things. 
First  of  the  lonely  powers,  ere  Time  arose. 
Were  Love  and  Chaos.     Love,  the  sire  of  Fate  ;       25 
Elder  than  Chaos.     Born  of  Fate  was  Time, 

V.  25.         —Love 

Elder  than  Chaos.']  Hcsiod,  in  his  Theos^ontj,  gives  a  different  ac- 
count, and  makes  ChaOS  the  eldest  of  beings  ;  though  he  assigns  to 
Love  neither  father  nor  superior :  which  circumstance  is  particular- 
ly mentioned  by  Phadni^,  'n  Plato's  Banquet,  as  being  observable 
not  only  in  Heiiod,  but  in  all  other  writers  both  of  verse  and  prose: 
and  on  the  same  occasion  he  cites  a  line  from  Purmenidcs,  in  which 
Love  is  expressly  stiled  the  eldest  of  all  the  gods.  Yet  Aristophanes, 
in  The  Birds,  affirms  that  "  Chaos,  and  Night,  and  Erebus,  and  Tar- 
"tarus,  were  first;  and  that  Love  was  produced  from  an  egg,  which 
"  the  sable-winged  night  depositpd  in  the  immense  bosom  of  Ere- 
"  bus."  But  it  must  be  observed,  that  the  Love  designed  by  this 
comic  poet  was  ahvays  distinguished  from  the  other,  from  that  ori- 
ginal and  jelf-e\istcnt  being  the  TO  ON  or  AFAGON  of  Plato,  and 
meant  only  the  AHMIOTPrOZ  or  second  person  of  the  old  Grip- 
cicoi  trinity;  to  v.hom  is  inscribed  a  hymn  among  thage  which 


HYMN   TO   THE   NAIADS.  163 

Who  many  sons  and  many  comely  births 
Devour'd,  relentless  father  :  'till  the  child 

pass  UD  ler  the  name  of  Orpheus,  where  he  is  called  Protogonos,  or 
the  first- begotten,  is  said  to  have  been  born  of  an  egg,  and  is  rep- 
resented as  the  principal  or  origin  of  all  these  external  appearances 
of  nature.  In  the  fragments  of  Or/>Ae«.y,  collected  hy  Henry  Ste- 
phens, he  is  named  Pliunes,  the  discoverer  or  discloser;  who  unfold- 
ed the  ideas  of  the  supreme  intelligence,  and  exposed  them  to  the 
perception  of  inferior  beings  in  this  visible  frame  of  the  world;  as 
Macrobius,  and  Proclus,  and  Athenagvras  all  agree  to  interpret  the 
several  passages  of  Orpheus  which  they  have  preserved. 

But  the  Love  designed  in  our  text,  is  the  one  self-existent  and 
infinite  mind,  whom  if  the  generality  of  anciect  mythol"gists  have 
not  Introduced  or  truly  described  in  accounting  fjr  the  production 
of  the  world  and  its  appearances;  yet,  to  a  modem  poet,  it  can  be 
no  objection  that  he  hath  ventured  to  differ  from  them  in  this  par- 
ticular; though,  in  other  respects,  he  professeth  to  imitate  their 
manner  and  conform  to  their  opinions.  For,  in  these  great  points 
of  natural  theology,  they  differ  no  less  remarkably  among  thc-.n- 
selves;  and  are  perpetually  confounding  the  philosophical  relations 
of  things  with  the  traditionary  circumstances  of  mUhic  history; 
ypon  whi.^h  very  account,  Callimachus,  in  his  hymn  to  Jupilei;  de- 
clareth  his  dissent  firom  them  concernirg  even  an  article  of  the  na- 
tional creed ;  adding,  that  the  ancient  bards  were  by  no  means  to 
be  depended  on.  And  yet  in  the  exordium  of  the  old  Argonautk 
poem,  ascribed  to  Orpheus,  it  is  said,  that  "  Love,  whom  mortals  in 
•'later  times  call  Phanes,  was  the  father  of  the  eternally-begotten 
•'  Night ;"  who  is  generally  represented  by  these  mythological  poets, 
as  being  herself  the  parent  of  all  things ;  and  who,  in  the  Indigita- 
iventa,  or  Orphic  Hymns,  is  said  to  be  the  same  witlj  Cypris,  or  Love 
itself.  Moreover,  in  the  body  of  this  Argonautk  poem,  where  the 
personated  Orpheus  introduceth  himself  singing  to  his  lyre  in  reply 
to  Chiron,  he  celebrateth  "the  obscure  memory  of  Chaos,  and  the 
"  natures  which  it  contained  within  itself  in  a  state  of  perpetual  vi- 
"cissitudc;  how  the  heaven  had  its  boundary  determined;  the  gen- 
"eration  of  the  earth;  the  depth  of  the  ocean;  and  also  the  sapi- 
"  ent  Love,  the  most  ancient,  the  self-sufficient ;  with  all  the  beings 
"  which  he  produced  when  he  separated  one  thing  from  another." 
Which  noble  passage  is  more  directly  to  Aristotle's  purpose  in  the 
first  boijk  of  his  metjphysics  than  any  of  those  which  he  has  there 
quoted,  to  s!iew  that  the  ancient  \y>ets  and  mytholngists  agr>  el  with 
limnedodcs,  Anaragoras,  and  the  other  more  s<ber  philosopht  is,  in 
that  natural  anticipation  and  cummun  notion  of  mankind  concern- 
ing the  necessity  of  mind  and  reason  to  account  for  the  connexion, 
motion,  and  g'>  Jd  order  of  the  -.vorld.  Fur,  though  m  iMier  this  p<.cm, 
nor  the  hymns  which  pass  under  the  >-anie  imn:e,  are,  it  sliouid  seem, 
the  work  of  the  real  (hpheuj;  yet  iK-yond  all  question,  they  arc  very 
ancient.  The  hymns,  more  p:irticularly,  are  allowed  to  be  uldir 
than  the  invasion  of  Greece  by  Xerxes}  and  were  probably  a  set 


164.         HYMN  TO  THE   NAIADS. 

Of  Rhba  drove  him  from  the  upper  sky. 

And  queil'd  his  deadly  might.     Then  social  reign'd 

of  public  and  solemn  forms  of  devotion :  as  appears  bv  a  passage  in 
one  of  t!iem,  which  Demosthenes  hath  almost  literally  cite<l  in  his 
first  oration  against  Amtoiiitun,  as  the  saving  of  Orp/icus,  the  found- 
er of  their  most  huly  mystei-ie?.  On  this"  account,  they  are  of  high- 
er authority  than  any  other  mythological  work  now  extant,  tiie 
T:eogony  of  llesiod  itself  not  excepted.  The  poetry  of  them  is 
often  extremely  noble  J  and  the  mysterious  air  which  prevails  in 
them,  together  with  its  delightful  impression  upon  the  m!r;d,  can- 
not be  better  expressed  than  in  that  remarkable  descripti  ,n  with 
which  they  inspired  the  fjerman  editor  f-'ickenbac.':,  when  he  acci- 
dentally met  with  thcin  at  I.eipsic:  "Thesaiirum  nie  reptris-te  cre- 
d.di,  says  he,  &  profecto  thesaurnra  repeii.  Incredibile  dlctu  quo 
me  sacro  horrore  afflaverint  indigitamenti  ista  deorum :  nam  et 
tenipus  ad  iliorum  lectionem  cligere  cogebar,  quod  vel  solum  hor- 
rorem  incutere  animo  potest,  noctumr.m;  cum  euim  totam  diem 
coasumserim  in  ccntemplando  urbis  splendare,  &  in  adt  undis,  qui- 
bns  scatet  urbs  ilia,  viris  doctis;  sola  nox  restabat,  quam  Orphco 
onsecrare  potui.  In  abyssum  quendam  mysteriorum  vcnerandae 
antiquitatis  descendere  videbar,  quutiosciinqiie  bilente  mitndo,  solis 
■vigikatib-as  astris  et  luna,  it.ikccn'firiii  istos  hymnos  ad  manus 
sumsi." 

V.  25.  Chaos.']  The  unformed,  undigested  mass  of  Moses  and 
Plato:  which  Milton  calls 

"  The  womb  of  nature." 

V.  25.  Lo-je,  ike  sire  of  Fuie.]  Faie  is  the  universal  system  of 
natural  causes  J  the  work  of  the  Omnipotent  Mind,  or  of  L<ve:  so 
Minuci'is  Felir :  "  Quid  enim  aliud  est  fatum,  quam  qncxt  d«  uno- 
quoque  nostrum  deus  fatus  est."  Stj  also  Cicero,  in  The  Jint  Book 
on.  Divination:  "Fatum  autem  id  appello,  quod  Graci  eipmap- 
MSNH.N;  id  est,  oidiriem  serienique  causaruni,  cum  causa  causae 
nexa  rem_  ex  se  gignat— ex  quo  intelligitar,  ut  fatum  sit  non  id  quod 
superstitiose,  sed  id  quod  physice  dicitur  causa  aelerna  rerum."  To 
the  same  purpose  is  the  doctrine  of  Hicrocles,  in  that  excellent  frag- 
ment concerning  Providence  and  Destiny.  As  to  the  three  Fates, 
or  Destinies  of  the  poets,  they  represented  that  part  of  the  general 
fystem  of  natural  causes  which  relates  to  man,  and  to  otlier  mortal 
beings;  for  so  we  aie  told  in  the  hyirm  addressed  to  them  among 
the  Vrphic  Iruligitameiitu,  where  they  are  called  the  daiij;ht<;rs  of 
Night  (or  Love),  and,  contrary  to  the  volicar  notion,  are  di^tinsnish- 
ed  by  the  epithets  of  gentle,  a:id  tender-bearted.  According  to  Hes- 
rjl,  Theog.  ver.  904,  they  were  the  daughters  ^A  Jupiter  nA^Themis: 
but  in  the  Or;>hic  IJumn  to  Venus,  or  Uiye,  that  (J<  ddess  is  directly 
stiled  the  mother  of  Necessity,  and  is  represented,  immediately 
after,  as  governing  the  three  De-tinics,  and  conducting  the  whole 
system  of  natural  causes. 

V.  2i".  Born  of  Fate  xsas  Jin:e.']     Cronos,  Saturn,  or  Time,  was. 


HYMN  TO   THE  NAIADS.  165 

The  kindred  powers,  Tethys,  and  reverend  Ops,         3 1 

And  spotless  Vesta  ;  while  supreme  of  sway 

Remain'd  the  Cloud-compeller.     From  the  couch 

Of  Tethys  sprang  the  sedgy-crowned  race. 

Who  from  a  thousand  urns,  o'er  every  clime,     ^  35. 

Send  tribute  to  their  parent;  and  from  them 

Are  ye,  O  NAIADS  :  Arethusa  fair, 

according  to  Apollodorus,  iae  son  of  Ceelum  and  Telltis.  But  the 
authoY  of  the  hymns  gives  it  quite  undisguised  by  mj'thologioal  lan- 
guage, and  calls  him  plainly  the  ofispring  of  the  earth  and  the  star- 
ry heaven  J  that  is,  of  Fate,  as  explained  in  the  preceding  not<°. 

V.  27.  Who  many  sons  devoured.']  The  knoT«n  fable  of  Saturn 
devouring  his  children  was  certainly  meant  to  imply  the  dissolution 
of  natural  bodies;  which  are  produced  and  destroyed  by  Time. 

V.  29.   the  child  of  Rhea.  3  Jupiter,  so  called  by  Pindar. 

V.  29.  Drove  him  from  the  upper  shj.']  That  Jupiter  dethroned 
his  father  Satttrn,  is  recorded  by  all  the  mythologists.  Phurmi- 
tus,  or  Cormitus,  the  author  of  a  little  (heek  trcati.-e,  on  the  nature 
of  the  gods,  informs  us,  that  by  Jupiter  was  meant  the  vegetable  soul 
of  the  world,  which  restrained  and  prevented  those  uncertain  altera- 
tions which  Saturn,  or  Time,  used  formerly  to  cause  in  the  mun- 
dane system. 

V.  50.  Then  social  reign'd."]  Our  mythology  here  supposeth,  that 
before  the  establishment  of  the  vital,  vegetative,  plastic  nature  (re- 
presented by  Jupiter  I,  the  fjur  elements  were  in  a  variable  and 
unsettled  condition  j  but  afterwards,  well-;lisposed  and  at  peace 
among  themselves,  tethys  was  the  wife  of  the  Ocean  ;  Ops,  or  Jihea, 
the  Earth;  Vesta,  the  eldest  daughter  of  f^aturn.  Fire;  and  the 
cloud -comf)eller,  or  Zsu;  nl^iXrc/i^irn;,  the  Air :  though  he  also  rep- 
resented the  plastic  principle  of  nature,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  Or- 
phic hymn  inscribed  to  him. 

V.  34.  The  seduy •crowned  race."]  The  rivrr-gods;  who,  accor- 
ding to  Hesiud^s  Theogoiiy,  were  the  sons  of  Qceanus  and  Tethys. 

V.  36,  37.  From  them,  are  yi;  O  Xuiads.']  The  descent  of  the  Nai- 
ads is  less  certain  than  most  ix>intsof  the  Greek  mythology.  Homer, 
Odyss.  x'ui- x-5;o(,t  Aii;.  firuH'^n  The  Eighth  Uouk  of  the  JF.neid, 
speaks  as  if  th(r  Nymphs,  or  Naiads,  were  the  parents  of  the  rivers  : 
but  in  this  ho  contradicts  the  testimony  of  Heiitxl,  and  evidently 
departs  from  the  orthodox  system,  which  rcprespntoth  several 
nymphs  as  pertaining  to  every  single  river.  On  tlie  other  hand,  Cal- 
limachus,  who  was  very  learned  in  all  the  school-divinity  of  those 
time.-i,  in  hi.>  hymn  to  fh'lo^,  maketh  Pcncus,  the  great.  Thessalian 
river-go<l,  the  father  of  his  nymphs:  and  Ovitl,  m  The  Fourteenth 
Book  of  his  Melunutrphosirs,  mentions  the  Naiads  of  I  atinm  as  the 
immediate  daughters  of  the  neighbouring  river-gods.  A<'Conlingly, 
tj»e  Naiads  of  particular  rivers  arc  occaiionally,  both  by  Oml  and 


16(3  HYMN  TO  THE   NAIADS. 

And  tuneful  Agamppe  ;  that  sweet  name, 

Bandusia  ;  that  soft  family  which  dwelt 

With  Syrian  Daphne  ;  and  the  honour'd  tribes  40 

Beloved  of  P^on.     Listen  to  my  strain. 

Daughters  of  Tethys  :  listen  to  your  praise, 
"iou,  Nympbs  !  the  winged  offspring,  which  of  old 

Aurora  to  divine  Astr^us  bore. 

Owns,  and  your  aid  bcseechetb.     When  the  might 

Of  HypERi'oN,  from  his  noontide  throne,  46 

Unbends  their  languid  pinions,  aid  from  you 
They  ask :  Favonius  and  the  mild  South-west 
From  you  relief  implore.     Your  sallying  streams 
Fresh  vigour  to  their  weary  wings  impart.  50 

Again  they  fly,  disporting ;  from  the  mead 
Half  ripen'd  and  the  tender  blades  of  corn. 
To  sweep  the  noxious  mildew ;  or  dispel 
Contagious  steams,  which  oft  the  parched  earth 
Breathes  on  her  fainting  sons.     Fiom  noon  to  eve,    55 
Along  the  river  and  the  paved  brook, 

Statius,  called  by  a  patronymic,  from  the  name  of  the  river  to  which 
they  belong. 

V.  40.  Swian  Daphne.]  The  grove  of  Daphne  in  Syria  near  4n. 
tioch,  was  famous  for  its  delightful  fountains. 

y.  40,  41.  Ike  tribes  beloved  by  Paon.  Mineral  and  medicinal 
spnngs.     Fcron  was  Ihe  phj'sician  of  the  gods. 

V.  43.  The  u;in<ied  offspring.']  The  AVind.sj  who,  according  to 
besioil  and  Apullodoms,  were  the  sons  of  Aitrans  and  Aurora. 

V.  46.  Hyperion.']  A  son  of  Ctplum  and  IcUm,  and  father  of  the 
Sun,  w)io  is  thence  called,  by  Pindar,  Hyperionrhs.  But  Hyperiort 
IS  put  by  Homer  in  the  same  manner  as  here,  for  the  Son  himself. 

V.  49.  Your  sallying  streams.']  The  state  of  the  atmosphere  with 
resjiect  to  rest  and  moti-n  is,  in  several  ways,  affected  by  rivers  and 
running  streams;  and  that  more  especially  in  hot  seasons :  first 
they  destroy  its  equiiibr^un^  by  cooling  those  parts  of  it  with  which 
they  are  in  contact;  and  secondly,  they  communicate  their  own 
motion ;  and  the  air  which  is  thus  moved  by  them,  bein;^  left  heat- 
ed, is  of  consequence  more  clastic  than  other  parts  of  "the  atmos- 
phere, and  therefore  fitter  to  preserve  and  to  propogatc  that  motion. 


HYMN  TO   THE   NAIADS.  167 

Ascend  the  cheerful  breezes :  hail'd  of  bards 
Who,  fast  by  learned  Cam,  the  iEolian  lyre 
Solicit ;  nor  unwelcome  to  the  youth 

Who  on  the  heights  of  Tibur,  all  inclined  GO 

O'er  rushing  Anio,  with  a  pious  hand 

The  reverend  scene  delineates,  broken  fanes. 

Or  tombs,  or  pillar'd  aqueducts,  the  pomp 

Of  ancient  Time;  and  haply,  while  be  scans 

The  ruins,  with  a  silent  tear  revolves  Q5 

The  fame  and  fortune  of  imperious  Rome. 

You  too,  O  Nymphs,  and  your  unenvious  aid 
The  rural  powers  confess  ;  and  sUll  prepare 
For  you  their  choicest  treasures.     Pan  commands. 
Oft  as  the  Delian  King  with  Sirius  holds  70 

The  central  heavens,  the  father  of  the  grove 
Commands  his  Dryahs  over  your  abodes 
To  spread  their  deepest  umbrage.     Well  the  o-od 
Remembereth  how  indulgent  ye  supplied 
Your  genial  dews  to  nurse  them  in  their  prime.  75 

Pales,  the  pasture's  queen,  where'er  ye  stray. 
Pursues  your  steps,  delighted  ;  and  the  path 
With  living  verdure  clothes.     Around  your  haunts 
The  laughing  Chloris,  with  profusest  hand. 
Throws  wide  her  blooms,  her  odours.     Still  with  you 
Pomona  seeks  to  dwell  :  and  o'er  the  lawns,  8 1 

And  o'er  the  vale  of  Richmond,  where  with  Thames 
\e  love  to  wander,  Amauhea  pours 

In  X'  '^r     F''^""  ^'"^-^     ^""^  ""^  ^^^  <'P»^''<''S  of  ApoPo.  or  the  Sun 
in  the  Orphr  hymn  inncribed  u>  him.  ^  ' 

V.  79.  r,  oris.]     '1-he  aiK-ic/.t  Ureek  nP.mc  for  Flori. 

V.  «  '.  Amaltn.a.l^     The  m  .thor  of  the  lirst  !i»cd,us    uHosp  hlns 

and-iucat-on  wxs   written,  as  IM.rus  6. ./.,  iXms   us    h    the 

old  P.;lasgic  character,   by  Th  orates    iira,.,'  ,nV    7  ' 

contcmoorarvuith  ri„/         '"■'•^'«'',  braii..:,..n  tj  Luomcio',,   and 

onicmporarj  «ith  Or,Ue'u.     ll„jmates  iiud  travelled  over  /,//■«  to 


163  HYMN   TO   THE   NAIADS. 

Well  pleas'd  the  wealth  of  that  Ammonian  horn. 

Her  dower;  unmindful  of  the  fragrant  isles  85 

Nysaean  or  Atlantic.     Nor  can'st  thou, 

(Albeit  oft  ungrateful,  thou  dost  mock 

The  beverage  of  the  sober  Naiad's  urn, 

O  Bromius,  O  Len^an)  nor  can'st  thou 

Disown  the  powers  whose  bounty,  ill  repaid,  90 

With  nectar  feeds  thy  tendrils.     Yet  from  me. 

Yet,  blameless  Nymphs,  from  my  delighted  lyre. 

Accept  the  rites  your  bounty  well  may  claim ; 

Nor  heed  the  scoffmgs  of  the  Edonian  band. 

For  better  praise  awaits  you.     Thames,  your  sire. 
As  down  the  verdant  slope  your  duteous  rills  96 

Descend ;  the  tribute  stately  Thames  receives. 
Delighted;  and  your  piety  applauds; 
And  bids  his  copious  tide  roll  on  secure, 

the  country  which  borders  on  the  western  ocean;  there  he  saw  the 
island  of  Xt/sa,  and  learned  from  the  inhabitants,  that  "  Amnion, 
"  king  of  Libya,  was  married  iu  former  ages  to  Rhea  sister  of  Saturn 
"and  the  Titans:  that  he  afterwards  fell  in  love  with  a  beautiful 
"  virgin  whose,  name  was  Amallhea;  had  by  her  a  son,  and  ga%-e  her 
"  possession  of  a  neighbouring  tract  of  land,  ■«  ;)nderfully  fertile ; 
"  which  in  shape  nearly  resembling  the  horn  of  an  ox,  was  thence 
"  called  the  Hesperian  horn,  and  afterwards  the  horn  of  Amaltkea  : 
"  that  fearing  the  jealousy  of  Rhea,  he  concealed  the  young  Bac- 
"  chus,  with  his  mother,  in  the  island  of  Nysa;"  the  beauty  of  which, 
Diodorus  describes  with  great  dignity  and  pomp  of  style.  This  fable 
is  one  of  the  noblest  in  all  the  ancient  mytho!ogj%  and  seems  to 
have  made  a  particular  impression  on  the  imagination  of  Milton  j 
the  only  modem  poet  (unless  perhaps  it  be  necessary  to  except 
S!>e  ser)  who,  in  these  mysterious  traditions  of  the  poetic  story,  had 
a  heart  to  feel,  and  words  to  express,  the  simple  and  solitary  genius 
of  antiquity.     To  raise  the  idea  of  his  Paradise,  he  prefers  it  even  to 

"  that  Sysean  isle 

Girt  by  the  river  7',it»n,  whore  old  Cham, 
(Wh.  m  (ieutdes  Ammon  call,  and  Libyan  Jove) 
Ilid  Amalthctt,  and  her  florid  son, 
Younp  Pacchuf,  from  his   tepdame  Rhea^s  eye." 
V.  94.  Fdomian  banf'."]     The  priestesses  and  other  ministers  of 
Vacckus ;  so  railed  from  Edonus,  a  mountain  of  Thrace,  where  his 
rites  were  cc  ebrated. 


HYMN   TO  THE   NAIADS.  109 

For  faithful  are  his  daughters;  and  with  words         100 

Auspcious  gratulates  the  bark  which,  now 

His  banks  forsaking,  her  adventurous  wings 

Yields  to  the  breeze,  with  Albion's  happy  gifts 

Extremest  isles  to  bless.     And  oft  at  morn. 

When  Hermes,  from  Olympus  beat,  o'er  earth  105 

To  bear  the  words  of  Jove,  on  yonder  hiil 

Stoops  lightly-sailing;  oft,  intent  your  springs 

He  views  :  and  waving  o'er  some  new-born  stream 

His  blest  pacific  wand,  "  And  yet,''  he  cries, 

"  Yet,"  cries  the  son  of  Maia,  "  though  recluse        110 

"  And  silent  be  your  stores,  from  you,  fair  Nymphs, 

"  Flows  wealth  and  kind  society  to  men. 

"  By  you  my  function  and  my  honour'd  name 

"  Do  1  possess  ;  while  o'er  the  Beetle  vale, 

'•  Or  through  the  towers  of  Miiraphis,  or  the  palms 

"  By  sacred  Ganges  water 'd,  I  conduct  1 10 

"  The  English  raerch^int ;  with  the  buxom  fleece 

"  Of  fertile  Ariconium  while  I  clothe 

"  Sarmatian  kings ;  or  to  the  household  gods 

"  Of  Syria,  from  the  bleak  Cornubian  shore,  120 

*'  Dispense  the  mineral  treasure  which  of  old 

"  Sidonian  pilots  sought,  when  this  fair  land 

"  Was  yet  unconscious  of  those  generous  arts 

"  Which  wise  Phoenicia  from  their  native  clime 

"'Transplanted  to  a  more  indulgcr.t  heaven."  125 

V.  105.  H^'hen  ITermes.']     H'.'  mes,  or  Mercury,  was  the  patron 
of  cooiTiMTCP ;  in  which  benevolent  character  he  is  addre^jsed  by  the 
author  of  the  Indigit'tmentr'f  in  these  beautiful  lines  : 
E^juflVEu  'sroivluv,  K  fUiAVo^t  \va>jxi.^ii..n, 

V.  121.  Thsnen  e  tin-  mintral  treasuve.]  'I'he  merchants  of  .9?rfo;?  and 
'2'jit  ma<le  fr(t]tifnt  voyages  to  the  ci'  st  of  Cornuall,  from  w}  e  -ce 
tboy  carried  botnc  gr'^t  quantities  of  tin. 

P 


170  HYMN   TO   THE   NAIADS. 

Such  are  the  words  of  Hermes  :  such  the  praise, 
O  Naiads,  which  from  tongues  celestial  waits 
Your  bounteous  deeds.     From  bounty  issueth  power : 
And  those  who,  sedulous  in  prudent  works. 
Relieve  the  wants  of  Nature,  Jove  repays  1 30 

With  noble  wealth,  and  his  own  seat  on  earth. 
Fit  judgments  to  pronounce,  and  curb  the  might 
Of  wicked  men.     Your  kind  unfailing  urns 
Not  vainly  to  the  hospitable  arts 
Of  Hermes  yield  their  store.     For,  O  ye  Nyiviphs, 
Hath  he  not  won  the  unconquerable  queen  136 

Of  arms  to  court  your  friendship  r     You  she  owns 
The  fair  associates  who  extend  her  sway 
Wide  o'er  the  mighty  deep ;  and  grateful  things 
Of  you  she  uttereth,  oft  as  from  the  shore  1 40 

Of  Thames,  or  Medway's  vale,  or  the  green  banks 
Of  Vecta,  she  her  thundering  navy  leads 
To  Calpe's  foaming  channel,  or  Ihe  rough 
Cantabrian  surge  ;  her  auspices  divine 
Imparting  to  the  senate  and  the  prince  1 45 

Of  Albion,  to  dismay  barbaric  kings. 
The  Iberian  or  the  Celt.     The  pride  of  kings 
Was  ever  scorn'd  by  Pallas  :  and  old 
Rejoiced  the  virgin,  from  the  brazen  prow 
Of  Athens  o'er  ^gina's  gloomy  surge,  150 

v.  136.  Hath  he  not  won.']  Mercury,  the  patron  of  commerce, 
being  so  greatly  dependent  on  the  gocd  offices  of  the  Naiads,  m  re- 
turn obtains  for  them  the  friendship  of  Minerva,  the  goddess  of 
war  :  for  military  {wwer,  at  least  the  naval  part  of  it,  hath  constant- 
ly followed  the  establij;hment  of  trade  j  which  exemplifies  the  pre- 
ceding observation,  that  "from  bounty  issueth  power." 

V.  143.  144.  Calpe — Cantabrian  surge."^  Gibralter  and  the  Bay  of 
Biscay. 

V.150.  j3Sgina's  gloomy  surge.']  Near  this  island,  the  Athenians 
obtained  the  victory  of  Salamis,  over  the  Persian  navy. 


HYMN   TO  THE   NAIADS.  171 

To  drive  her  clouds  and  storms  :  o  erwhelming  all 

The  Persian's  promised  glory,  when  the  realms 

Of  Indus  and  the  soft  Ionian  clime, 

\Vhen  Libya's  torrid  champain  and  the  rocks 

Of  cold  Imaiis  join'd  their  ser\'ile  hands.  155 

To  sweep  the  sons  of  liberty  fiom  earth. 

In  vain  :  Minerva  on  the  bounding  prow 

Of  Athens  stood,  and  with  the  thunder's  voice 

Denounced  her  terrors  on  their  impious  heads, 

And  shook  her  burning  segis.     Xerxes  saw  :  160 

f    From  Heracleum,  on  the  mountain's  height, 

I    Throned  in  his  golden  car,  he  knew  the  sign 

'-     Celestial ;  felt  unrighteous  hope  forsake 

His  faltering  heart,  and  tiirn'd  his  face  with  shame. 
Hail,  ye  who  share  the  stern  Minerva's  power; 
Who  arm  the  hand  of  liberty  for  war  :  166 

;     And  give  to  the  renown'd  Britannic  name 
To  awe  contending  monarchs  :  yet  benign. 
Yet  mild  of  nature  :  to  the  works  of  peace 
More  prone,  and  lenient  of  the  many  ills  170 

Which  wait  on  human  life.     Your  gentle  aid 
IIvGEiA  we!!  caa  witness;  she  who  saves, 
I'rom  poifonous  cates  and  cups  of  pleasing  bane. 
The  wretch  devoted  to  the  intangling  snares 
Of  Bacchl;  and  of  Co.Mus.     Him  she  leads  175 

To  Cynthia's  lonely  haunts.     To  spread  the  toils  ; 
To  beat  the  coverts  ;  with  the  jovial  horn 

j      At  dawn  of  day  to  summon  the  loud  hounds  ; 
She  calls  the  lingering  sluggard  from  his  dreams : 

V.  160.  Xerxes  iaui.'\  This  circumstance  is  recorded  in  that  pa  s- 
saip,  perhaps  tlic  most  splendid  among  all  the  remains  of  ancient 
history,  where  Pivtarch,  in  his  Ijje  of  Themistucles,  describes  the 
«,-a-fights  of  Arlen.inum  aud  Salamis. 


172  HYMN   TO   THE   KAIADS. 

And  where  his  breast  may  drink  the  mountain  breeze, 

And  where  the  fervor  of  the  sunny  vale  1 8 1 

May  beat  upon  his  brow,  through  devious  paths 

Bjckons  his  rapid  coui-ser.     Nvr  when  ease. 

Cool  ease  and  welcome  slumbers  have  becalm'd 

His  eajer  bosom,  does  the  queen  of  health  1 35 

Her  pleasing  care  withhold.     His  decent  board 

She  guards,  presiding  ;  and  the  frugal  powers 

With  joy  sedate  leads  in  :  and  while  the  brown 

Ennmean  dame,  with  Pan  presents  her  stores ; 

While  changing  still,  and  comely  in  the  change,      190 

VERTUMNiis  and  the  Hours  before  him  spread 

The  garden's  banquet ;  you  to  crown  his  feast. 

To  crown  his  feast,  O  Naiads  !  you  the  fair 

Hygeia  calls  :  and  from  your  shelving  seats. 

And  groves  of  poplar,  plenteous  cups  ye  bring,         1 95 

To  slake  his  veins  :  till  soon  a  purer  tide 

Flows  down  those  loaded  channels  ;  washeth  off 

The  dregs  of  luxury,  the  lurking  seeds 

Of  crude  disease;  and  through  the  abodes  of  life 

Sends  vigour,  sends  repose.     Hail !  Naiads  :  hail ! 

Who  give,  to  labour,  health  ;  to  stooping  age,  201 

The  joys  which  youth  had  squander'd.     Oft  your  urns 

^\  ill  I  invoke  ;  and  frequent  in  your  praise, 

Abash  the  frantic  Thyrsus  with  my  song. 

For  not  estranged  from  your  benignant  arts         20' 
Is  he,  the  god,  to  whose  mysterious  shrine 
"My  youth  was  sacred,  and  my  votive  cares 
Belong ;  the  learned  P^ox.     Oft,  when  all 
His  cordial  treasures  he  hath  search'd  in  vain  ; 

v.  204.  Thyrsus']  A  staff,  or  spear,  wreathed  round  with  ivy : 
of  constant  use  in  th ;  bacchanalian  mysteries. 


HYMN   TO   THE  NAIADS.  173 

When  herbs,  and  potent  trees,  and  drops  of  balm. 

Rich  with  the  genial  influence  of  the  sun  ;  211 

To  rouse  dark  fancy-from  her  plaintive  dreams. 

To  brace  the  nerveless  arm,  with  food  to  win 

Sick  appetite,  or  hush  the  unquiet  breast 

Which  pines  with  silent  passion,  he  in  vain  213 

Hath  proved;  to  your  deep  mansions  he  descends; 

Your  gates  of  humid  rock,  yom'  dim  arcades. 

He  entereth  ;  where  impurpled  veins  of  ore 

Gleam  on  the  roof;  where  through  the  rigid  mine 

Your  trickling  rills  insinuate.     Thei'e  the  god,  220 

From  your  indulgent  hands  the  streaming  bowl 

Wafts  to  his  pale-eyed  suppliants ;  wafts  the  seeds 

jNIetallic  and  the  elemental  salts, 

Wash'd  fron>  the  pregnant  glebe.  They  drink :  and  soon 

Hies  pain ;  Hies  inauspicious  care  :  and  soon  225 

The  social  liaurit  or  unfreqt>€nted  shade 

Hears  lo,  lo  P.t.vN  ;  as  of  old. 

When  PvTHON  fell.     And,  O  propitious  Nymphs  ! 

Oft  as  for  hapless  mortals  1  implore 

Your  salutary  springs,  through  every  urn  230 

Oh  shed  your  healing  treasures.     With  the  first 

And  finest  breath,  which  from  the  genial  strife 

Of  mineral  fermentation  springs,  like  I'ght 

O'er  the  fresh  morning's  vapours ;  lustrate  then 

The  fountain,  and  inform  the  rising  wave.  23  5 

My  lyre  ihall  pay  your  bounty.     Scorn  not  ye 
That  hwnble  tribute.     Though  a  mortal  hand 
I'^xcite  the  strings  to  utterance,  yet  for  themes 
Not  unregarded  of  celestial  pov.  crs, 

V.   227,   lo,  Fcpan"]     An  ox'  liimation  of  victory  and  triiun{>h, 
d(.ri\0'l  IVom  Jj/atlo's  cnc'junUr  «ith  Pythm. 

P  2 


174  HYMN   TO   THE   NAIADS. 

I  frame  their  language  ;  and  the  Muses  deign  2 1'^' 

To  guide  the  pious  tenor  of  my  lay. 

The  Muf^es  (sacred  by  their  gifts  divine) 

In  early  days  did  to  my  wondering  sense 

Their  secrets  oft  reveal ;  oft  my  raised  ear 

In  slumber  felt  their  music  :  oft,  at  noon  245 

Or  hour  of  sunset,  by  seme  lonely  stream. 

In  field  or  shady  grove,  they  taught  me  words 

Of  power  from  death  and  envy  to  preserve 

The  good  man's  name.  Whence  yet  with  grateful  mind 

And  offerings  unprofaned  b}^  ruder  eye,  '      2pO 

My  vows  I  send,  my  homage,  to  the  seats 

Of  rocky  Cirrha,  where  with  you  they  dwell : 

Where  you,  their  chaste  companions,  they  admit 

Through  all  the  hallow'd  scene  :  where  oft  intent. 

And  leaning  o'er  Castalia's  mossy  verge,  255 

They  mark  the  cadence  of  your  confluent  urns. 

How  tuneful !  yielding  gratefullest  repose 

To  their  consorted  measure  :  'till  again. 

With  emulation  all  the  sounding  choir. 

And  bright  Apollo,  leader  of  the  song,  26  0 

Their  voices  through  the  liquid  air  exalt, 

And  sweep  their  lofty  strings  :  those  powerful  strings 

That  charm  the  mind  of  gods  :  that  fill  the  courts 

Of  wide  Olympus  with  oblivion  sweet 

Of  evils,  with  immortal  rest  from  cares ;  265 

Assuage  the  terrors  of  the  throne  of  Jove  ; 

V.  552.  Cirrha.']  One  of  the  summits  of  Parnassus,  and  sacred 
to  Apollo.  Near  it  were  several  fountains,  said  to  be  frequented  by 
the  Muses.  Nysa,  the  other  eminence  of  the  same  mountain,  uas 
dedicated  to  Bacchus. 

V.  263.  Charm  th,- mind  of  go(h.']  This  whole  passage,  concern- 
ing the  effects  of  sacred  rflusic  among  the  gods,  is  taken  from  Pin- 
dar's first  Pijthian  ode. 


HYMN   TO   TH£   NAIADS.  il5 

And  quench  Uie  formidable  thunderbolt 
Of  unrelenting  fire.  •  With  slacken'd  wings. 
While  now  tiir?  solemn  concert  breathes  around, 
Incuml>ent  o'er  the  sceptre  of  his  lord  270 

Sleeps  the  stern  eagle ;  by  the  number'd  notes, 
Poisess'd  ;  and  satiate  with  the  melting  tone  : 
Sovereign  of  birds.     The  furious  god  of  war. 
His  darts  forgetting,  and  the  winged  wheels 
That  bear  him  vengeful  o'er  the  embattled  plain,      27j 
Kelents,  and  sooths  his  own  fierce  heart  to  ease. 
Most  welcome  ease.     The  sire  of  gods  and  men. 
In  that  great  moment  of  divine  delight. 
Looks  down  on  all  that  livej  and  whatsoe'er 
He  loves  not,  o'er  the  peopled  earth  and  o'er  280 

The  interminated  ocean;  he  beholds 
Cursed  with  abhorrence  by  his  doom  severe. 
And  troubled  at  the  sound.     Ye  Naiads,  ye 
With  ravish'd  ears  the  melody  attend. 
Worthy  of  sacred  silence.     But  the  slaves  285 

Of  Bacchus,  with  tempestuous  clamours  strive 
To  drown  the  heavenly  strains ;  of  highest  Jove, 
Irreverent ;  and  by  mad  presumption  fired. 
Their  own  discordant  raptures  to  advance 
With  hostile  emulation.     Down  they  rush  290 

From  Nysa's  vine-impurpled  cliff,  the  dames 
Of  Thrace,  the  Satyrsj^and  the  unruly  Fauns, 
With  old  Silenus,  reeling  through  the  crowd 
Which  gambols  round  him,  in  convulsions  wild 
Tossing  their  limbs,  and  brandishing  in  air  295 

The  ivy-mantled  thyrsus,  or  the  torch 
Through  black  smoke  flaming,  to  the  Phrygian  pipe's 

V.   297.    Phryi^an  pipe's."]     The  Phrygian  nmsic  was  fantastic 
and  turbulent,  anJ  fit  to  excite  disorderly  pas'tions. 


^76  HYxMN   TO   THE   NAIADS. 

Shrill  voice,  and  to  the  clashing  cymbals  j  mix'd 

With  shrieks  and  frantic  uproar.     May  the  gods 

From  every  unpolluted  ear  avert  300 

Their  orgies  !  If  within  the  seats  of  men. 

Within  the  walls,  the  gates,  where  Pallas  holds 

The  guardian  key,  if  haply  there  be  found 

Who  loves  to  mingle  with  the  revel-band 

And  hearken  to  their  accents  ;  who  aspires  305 

From  such  instructers  to  inform  his  breast 

With  verse;  let  him,  fit  votarist,  implore 

Their  inspiration.     He,  perchance,  the  gifts 

Of  voung  Lyaeus,  and  the  dread  exploits, 

May  sing  in  attest  numbers  :  he,  the  fate  310 

Of  sober  Pentheus,  he,  the  Paphian  Fite«> 

And  naked  Mars  with  Cytherea  chain'd. 

And  strong  Alcides  in  the  spinster's  robes, 

3Iay  celebrate,  applauded.     But  with  you 

O  Naiads,  far  from  that  unhallovv'd  rout,  315 

Must  dwell  the  man,  whoe'er  to  praised  themes 

Invokes  the  immortal  Muse.    The  immortal  Muse 

To  your  calm  habitations,  to  the  cave 

Corycian  or  the  Delphic  mount,  will  guide 

V.  302.   The  gates  where  Palldt  holds 

7^e  guardian  iey."^  It  was  the  office  of  Mirerva  to  be 
the  guardian  of  walled  cities ;  whence  she  was  named  TIOAIAS 
and  nOAIOTXOS,  and  had  her  statues  place!  in  their  gates, 
being  supposed  to  keep  the  kej's  ;  and  on  that  account  sriled 
KAHAOYXOS. 

V.  311.  Fate  of  ioher  Pentheus.']  Pentheus  v  as  torn  in  pieces 
by  the  bacchanalian  priests  and  women,  for  despising  their  m\'sferies. 

V.  319  T'/ie  cave  Corycitin.']  Of  this  cave  Pavsanias,  in  his 
Tenth  B'Jok,  gives  lh°  following  descripiion  :  "  Relween  Delphi  and 
"  the  eminences  of  Parhas  ti.',  is  a  road  to  the  grotto  of  itirycivm, 
"  which  has  its  name  from  the  nymph  Curt/da,  and  is  by  far  the 
"  most  remarkable  which  I  have  seen.  One  may  walk  a  great  way 
"  into  it  without  a  torch.     'Tis  of  a  considerable  height,  and  hath 


HYMN   TO   THE   NAIADS.  177 

His  footsteps  ;  and  with  your  unsullied  streams        320 

His  lips  will  bathe  :  whether  the  eternal  lore 

Of  Themis,  or  the  majesty  of  Jove, 

To  mortals  he  reveal ;  or  teach  his  lyre 

The  unenvied  guerdon  of  the  patriot's  toils. 

In  those  unfading  islands  of  the  bless'd,  325 

Where  sacred  Bards  abide.     Hail,  honoured  Nymphs  ! 

Thrice  hail !  For  you  the  Cyrenaic  shell 

Behold,  I  touch,  revering.     To  my  songs 

Be  present  ye,  with  favourable  feet. 

And  all  profaner  audience  far  remove.  530 

"  several  spring?  within  it ;  and  yet  a  much  greatrr  quantity  of 
"water  distills  from  the  shell  and  rcxjf,  so  as  to  be  continually 
"dropping  on  the  ground.  The  people  round  Parnassus  hold  it 
"  sacred  to  the  Corycian  nymphs  and  to  Fan." 

V.  319.  Delphic  mount -2  PdpM,  the  seat  and  oracle  of  >(/)o//o, 
had  a  moimtaineons  and  rjck^'  situation,  on  the  skirts  ot  Parnassus. 

V.  527.  Cyrenaic  shell.'^  Tyrewe  was  the  native  country  of  Cc/- 
limachus,  whose  hymns  are  the  most  remarkable  example  of  that 
m\lhGli>gical  passion  which  is  assumed  in  the  preceding'  poem,  and 
have  always  aJTorded  particular  pleasure  to  the  author  of  it,  by 
reason  cf  the  mysterious  solemnity  with  which  they  afitct  the  mind. 
<>n  this  account  he  was  induced  to  attempt  somewhat  in  the  same 
manner  J  solely  by  way  of  exercise  :  the  manner  itself  being  now 
almost  entirely  abandoned  in  poctrs".  And  as  the  nmrc  genealogy, 
or  the  personal  adventures  of  heatlicn  gods,  could  have  been  but 
little  interesting  to  a  modern  reader;  it  was  therefore  thought  pro- 
per to  select  some  convenient  part  of  the  history  of  nature,  and  to 
employ  these  ancient  divinities  as  it  is  i)robabie  they  were  firtt  em- 
ployed;  to  wit,  in  personifying  natural  ca'ise;,  awl  in  representing 
tlie  mutual  agreement  or  cppohition  of  the  corporeal  and  moral  pow- 
ers of  the  world;  which  hath  been  accounted  the  very  highest  oflice 
of  p'oetry. 

HYMN    TO   SCIENCE. 

"  O  vitxphilosophiadux!  O  virtu t is  indagatrix,  expultrixq' vltiorum. 
''  — Tu  urbes  pepcriiti;  tu  inveiitrix  legum,  tu  magistra  morum  et 
"  discipline  fuLsti :  ad  tc  confugimus,  a  te  opem  p<  iinus." 

CIC.  Tusc  2ursl. 

Science  !  thou  feir  efiusive  ray. 
From  the  great  Source  cf  mental  day. 


178  HYMN  TO   SCIENCE. 

Free,  generous,  and  refined. 
Descend  with  all  thy  treasures  fraught. 
Illumine  each  bewilder'd  thought. 

And  bless  my  labouring  mind.  G 

But  first  with  thy  resistless  light 
Disperse  those  phantoms  from  my  sight. 

Those  mimic  shades  of  thee, 
The  scholiast's  learning,  sophist's  cant. 
The  visionary  bigot's  rant. 

The  monk's  philosophy.  12 

O  let  thy  powerful  charms  impart 
The  patient  head,  the  candid  heart. 

Devoted  to  thy  sway. 
Which  no  weak  passions  e'er  mislead. 
Which  still  with  dauntless  steps  proceed 

Where  Reason  points  the  way  !  18 

Give  me  to  learn  each  secret  cause ; 
Let  Numlier's,  Figure's,  Motion's  laws 

Reveal'd  before  me  stand  ; 
These  to  great  Nature's  scenes  apply. 
And  round  the  globe  and  through  the  sky 

Disclose  her  working  hand.  24- 

Next,  to  thy  nobler  search  resign'd. 
The  busy,  restless,  human  mind 

Through  every  maze  pursue  ; 
Detect  Perception,  where  it  lies. 
Catch  the  ideas  as  they  rise. 

And  all  their  changes  view.  39 

Say  from  what  simple  springs  began 
The  vast  ambitious  thoughts  of  Man, 

Which  range  beyond  control ; 
Which  seek  eternity  to  trace. 


48 


MYMN  TO  SCIENCE  \ld 

Dive  through  the  infinity  of  space. 

And  strain  to  grasp  the  whole  ?  56 

Her  secret  stores  let  Memory  tell ; 
Bid  Fancy  quit  her  fairy  cell. 

In  all  her  colours  drest ; 
While  prompt,  her  sallies  to  control. 
Reason,  the  judge,  recalls  the  soul 

To  Truth's  severest  test.  42 

Then  launch  through  Being's  wide  extent ; 
Let  the  fair  scale  with  just  ascent 

And  cautious  steps  he  trod. 
And  from  the  dead  corporeal  mass. 
Through  each  progressive  order  pass 

To  Instinct, — Reason, — GO0. 
There,  Science  !  veil  thy  daring  eye. 
No  dive  too  deep,  nor  soar  too  high. 

In  that  divine  abyss  ; 
To  Faith,  content  thy  beams  to  lend, 
Her  hopes  to  assure,  her  steps  befriend, 

And  light  her  way  to  bliss. 

Then  downwards  take  thy  flight  again. 
Mix  with  the  policies  of  men. 

And  social  Nature's  ties  ; 
The  plan,  the  genius  of  each  state. 
Its  interest,  and  its  powers,  relate. 

Its  fortunes,  and  its  rise.  00 

Through  private  life  pursue  thy  course,  ) 

Trace  every  action  to  its  source. 

And  means  and  motives  weigh; 
I*ut  tempers,  passions.  In  the  .scale, 
Mark  what  degrees  in  each  prevail. 

And  fix  the  doubtful  sway.  ^jq 


54. 


186  HYMN   TO  SCIENCE. 

That  last,  best  effort  of  thy  skill. 

To  FORM  THE  LIFE,  and  RULE  THE  WILL, 

Propitious  Power  !  ini|.'art ; 
Teach  nie  to  cool  my  passion's  fires, 
Make  me  the  judge  of  my  desires. 

The  master  of  my  heart.  72 

Raise  me  above  the  vulga)\'i  breath, 
Pursuit'of  fortune,  fear  of  death. 

And  all  in  life  that's  mean  : 
Still  true  to  Reason  be  my  plan, 
Still  let  my  actions  speak  the  Man 

Through  every  various  scene.  78 

Hail !  queen  of  Manners,  light  of  Truth  ; 
Hail !  charm  of  age,  and  guide  of  youth  ; 

Sweet  refuge  of  diNtress  ; 
In  business  thou,  exact,  polite  ; 
Thou  givesl  Retirement  its  delight. 

Prosperity  its  grace.  81 

Of  wealth,  power,  freedom,  thou  the  cause  j 
Foundress  of  order,  cities,  laws ; 

Of  arts  inventress,  thou  ! 
Without  thee,  what  were  humankind  ? 
How  vast  their  wants,  their  thoughts  how  blind. 

Their  joys  how  mean  !  how  few  !  QC 

Sux  OF  THE  Soul  !  thy  beams  unveil ; 
Let  others  spread  the  daring  sail 

On  Fortune's  faithless  sea, 
'^      While  undeluded,  happier,  I 
From  the  vain  tumult  timely  fly. 

And  sit  in  peace  with  thee,  96 

END  OF  THE  FIRST  VOLUME. 


CONTENT  S. 

VOLUME    FIRST. 

Page. 

Life  of  Akinside         —         —         —         t-  v 

Essay  on  the  Pleasures  of  Imagination  xiii 

The  Design         —         —         —         —         —  1 

The  Pleasurfs  of  Imagination     Book  the  First  7 

Ibid.                            Book  the  Second  31 

Ibid.                            Book  thf  Third  69 

The  Pleasures  of  the  Imagination,     Enlarged.  85 

Book  the  First                 —  89 

Ibid.    Book  the  Second                —  115 

Ibid.    Book  the  Third.    A  Fragment  138 

Idid.    Book  the  Fourth.         do.  1.56 

Hymn  to  the  Naiads         —         —         —      —  IGl 

Hymn  to  Science         —         —         —         —  177 

VOLUMESECOND- 

ODES.       BOOK  THE  FIRST. 

Ode        I.     Preface         —         —             ~  3 

II.  No.  I.  For  the  Winter  Solstice  5 

No,  2,  On  the  Winter  Solstice      —  7 

III.  To  a  Friend.  Unsuccessful  in  Love  1  1 

IV.  Aflected  Indifierence       —         —  1  t 
V.  Against  Suspicion         —         —  15 

VI.   Hymn  to  Clieerfulness         —       ^  17 

VII.  On  the  Use  of  Pwtry         —         —  23 

VHI.  On  leaving  Holland         —         —  25 

IX.  To  Curio         __         —         _  28 

X.  To  the  Muse         — •         —         —  34 

XI.  On  Love  to  a  Friend         —         —  35 

XII.  To  Sir  Francis  Henry  Drake  Baronet  37 

XHI.  On  Lyric  Poetry         _-         —  40 

XIV^  To  the  Honourable  Charles  Towns- 

hend  :   From  the  Country       ^  45 

XV.  To  the  Evening-.Star         —       —  47 

XVf.  To  Caleb  llardmgc,  M.  I).         —  50 

XVn.  (>ri  a  Sermon  against  (ilory       —  52 

XV'III.  To  the  Right  Honourable  Francis  Earl 

of  Huntingdon          — -         —  53 

ODKS.        HOOK  THL  Sl.COXn. 

I.  The  ReiTionstrancc  of  Shakespeare  6-i' 


CONTENTS. 

ODES.       BOOK  THE  SECOND. 

Ode     II.  To  Sleep         —         —         —  67 

III.  To  the  Cuckow        —        —  70 

IV.  To  the  Honourable  Charles  Townshend 

in  the  Country         —         —  71 

V.  On  Love  of  Praise         —         —  78 
VI.  To  William  Hall  Esquire  :  with  the 

Works  ofChaulieu         —       —  19 
VII.  To  the  Right  Reverend  Benjamin  Lord 

Bishop  of  Winchester         -—  81 

VIII.*  To  Amoret        —  —  81. 

IX.  At  Study        —        —        —  86 
X.  To  Thomas  Edwards,  Esqr.  on  the  late 

Edition  of  Mr.  Pope's  Works  87 
XI.  To  the  Country  Gentlemen  of  England  90 
XII.  On  recovering  from  a  fit  of  Sickness 

in  the  Country         —         —  06 

XIII.  To  the  Author  of  Memoirs  of  the  House 

of  Brandenburgh         —         —  99 

XIV.  The  Complaint         —         —      —  101 
XV.  On  Domestic  Manners         102 

MISCELLANIES. 

An  Epistle  to  Curio         104- 

Love.  An  Elegv         115 

A  British  Philipic         120 

The  Virtuoso         • 125 

The  Poet ;  a  Rhapsody         129 

To  Cordelia     ' 1 35 

A  Song         •         ■  1 36 

INSCRIPTIONS. 

I.  For  a  Grotto  1 37 

II.   For  a  Statue  of  Chaucer  at  Woodstock  1 37 

m.         138 

IV.  For  bhakespeare's  Monument  '  139 

V.  For  a  Statue  of  William  III  —  140 

VI.   For  a  Column  at  Ruunvmede         140 

VII.  The  W.od  Nymph       ' 14-1 

VIII.  142 

IX.  143 

ESSAYS. 

On  Correctness         ■  145 

Th(j    '  dhU;  •)(' Mc(^rn  raiiie.   A  Vision        131 

The  iJalai.cc  of  x'^^ets  161- 


THE 


WORKS 


MARK  AKINSIDE,   M.  D. 


FERSE  AND  PROSE. 


VOLUME   II. 


.•"..••H«»»»M«"«H»«- 


"  — In  prophetic  dreams  he  saxo 
"  The  race  unborn  Kith  pious  an-e 
"'  Imbibe  each  xirtuefrom  his  heavenhj  pagr.'' 
Book  II,  Ode  II, 


NEfV-BRV'NS fVICK,  NEW- JERSEY, 

PriiUerl  by  William  Elliot. 

SoiDiN  New-vork,  by  T.  and  J.  Swords;    in  PiiiLADEtniiA,  bt 
!j*m(jf.l  F-  ERADrcRP;  and  is  Boston,  by  Thomas  and  Andrews. 

1808. 


ODES 


SEVERAL    SUBJECTS, 
IN  TWO  BOOKS. 

BOOK  THE  FIRST. 
MDCCXLIV. 
O  D  E    I. 

PREFACE. 

— Ego,  apis  Matinee 
More,  modogue,  S^c. 

Horace.  Lib.  IV.  Ode  11. 

I. 

viN  yonder  verdant  hilloc  laidj 
Where  oaks  and  elms,  a  friendly  shade, 

O'erlook  the  falling  stream  ; 
O  master  of  the  Latin  lyre, 
A  while  with  thee  will  I  retire 

From  summer's  noontide  beam.       ,  0 

JI. 
And,  lo,  within  my  lonely  bower, 

The  industrious  BEE  from  many  a  flower 

Collects  her  balmy  dews : 
"  For  me,"  she  sings,  "  the  gems  are  born, 
"  For  me  their  silken  robe  adorn, 

"  Their  fragrant  breath  diffuse. "  12 


O  D  E    I. 

III. 

Sweet  murmurer  !  may  no  rude  storm 

This  hospitable  scene  deform. 

Nor  check  thy  gladsome  toils ; 
Still  may  the  buds  unsullied  spring. 
Still  showers  and  sunshine  court  thy  wing- 
To  these  ambrosial  spoils.  1 3 

IV. 

Nor  shall  my  Muse  hereafter  fail 

Her  fellow-labourer  thee  to  hail ; 

And  lucky  be  the  strains  ! 
For  long  ago  did  Nature  frame 
Your  seasons  and  your  arts  the  same. 

Your  pleasures  and  your  pains.  24 

V. 
Like  thee,  in  lowly,  sylvan  scenes. 

On  river -banks  and  flowery  greens 

My  Muse  delighted  plays  ; 
Nor  through  the  desart  of  the  air. 
Though  swans  or  eagles  triumph  there. 

With  fond  ambition  strays.  30 

VI. 

Nor  where  the  boding  raven  chaunts. 
Nor  near  the  owl's  unhallovv'd  haunts 

Will  she  her  cares  employ  ; 
But  flies  from  ruins  and  from  tombs. 
From  superstition's  horrid  glooms. 

To  day-light  and  to  joy.  36 

VII. 

Nor  will  she  tempt  the  barren  waste ; 

Nor  deign  the  lurking  strength  to  taste 
Of  any  noxious  thing; 


BOOKTHEFIRST.  5 

But  leaves  with  scorn  to  envy's  use 
The  insipid  nightshade's  baneful  juice, 

The  nettle's  sordid  sting.  42 

VIII. 
From  all  which  Nature  fairest  knows. 

The  vernal  blooms,  the  summer  rose. 

She  draws  her  blameless  wealth ; 
And  when  the  generous  task  is  done. 
She  consecrates  a  double  boon. 

To  pleasure  and  to  health.  48 


ODE     II.     No.  I. 

FOR  THE  WINTER  SOLSTICE. 

DEC.  II,  MDCCXL.* 


IN  OW  to  the  utmo?t  southern  goal 

'I'he  Sun  has  traced  his  annual  way. 

And  backward  now  j>repares  to  roll. 

And  bless  the  North  with  earlier  day. 

Prone  on  Potosi's  lofty  brow. 

Floods  of  sublimer  splendor  flow. 

Ripening  the  latent  seeds  of  gold, 

Whilst,  panting  in  the  lonely  shade. 

The  ainicted  Indian  hides  his  head. 

Nor  darts  the  blaze  of  noon  behold.  10 

■'<■  This  Ode  was  afterwards  cntinily  altcri'd;  as  may  be  seen  ia 
I  he  following  poem.  The  ri.-ad'.r  will  not  be  displeased  to  s>;e  it  as 
it  uaj  uriirinaily  written, 

A  a  2 


ODE    II,    No.  1 . 

11. 

But  lo  !  on  this  deserted  coast. 

How  faint  the  light !  how  chill  the  air  ! 

Lo  !  arm'd  with  whirlwind,  hail,  and  frost,. 

Fierce  winter  desolates  the  year. 

The  fields  resign  their  cheerful  bloom  ; 

No  more  the  breezes  breathe  perfume  ; 

No  more  the  warbling  waters  roll : 

Desarts  of  snow  fatigue  the  eye ; 

Successive  tempests  bloat  the  sky. 

And  gloomy  damps  oppress  the  soul.  20 

III. 
But  let  my  drooping  genius  rise. 

And  hail  the  Sun's  remotest  ray  : 

Now,  now  he  climbs  the  northern  skies. 

To-morrow  nearer  than  to-day. 

Then,  louder  howl  the  stormy  waste. 

Be  land  and  ocean  worse  defaced. 

Yet  brighter  hours  are  on  the  wing. 

And  Fancy,  through  the  wintry  gloom. 

Radiant  with  dews  and  flowers  in  bloom. 

Already  hails  the  emerging  Spring.  30 

IV. 

O  fountain  of  the  golden  day  ! 

Could  mortal  vows  but  urge  tt»y  speed. 

How  soon,  before  thy  vernal  ray. 

Should  each  unkindly  damp  recede  ! 

How  soon  each  tempest  hovering  fly,     i 

That  now,  fermenting,  loads  the  sky. 

Prompt  on  our  heads  to  burst  amain. 

To  rend  the  forest  from  the  steep. 

And,  thundering  o'er  the  Baltic  deep. 

To  'whelm  the  merchant's  hopes  of  gain  !  40 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  7 

V. 

But  let  not  man's  imperfect  views. 

Presume  to  tax  wise  Nature's  laws  : 

'Tis  his  with  silent  joy  to  use 

The  indulgence  of  the  sovran  cause; 

Secure  that  from  ttje  whole  of  things 

Beauty  and  good  consummate  springs. 

Beyond  what  he  can  reach  to  know. 

And  that  the  Providence  of  heaven 

Has  some  peculiar  blessing  given 

To  each  allotted  state  below.  50 

VI. 
Even  now  how  sweet  the  wintry  night 

Spent  with  the  old  illustrious  dead  ! 

While,  by  the  taper's  trembling  light, 

I  seem  those  awful  courts  to  tread 

Where  chiefs  and  legislators  lie. 

Whose  triumphs  move  before  my  eye. 

With  every  laurel  fresh  displayed  : 

While,  charm'd,  I  rove  in  classic  song. 

Or  bend  to  Freedom's  fearless  tongue. 

Or  walk  the  academic  shade.  60 


ODE    II,     No.  2. 

ON   THE   WINTER   SOLSTICE, 
MDCCXL. 

I. 

T 

-*  HE  radiant  ruler  of  the  year 
At  length  bis  wintry  goal  attains  ; 


O  D  E  II.    No.  2. 

Soon  to  reverse  the  long  career. 

And  northward  bend  his  steady  reins. 

Now,  piercing  half  Potosi's  height. 

Prone  rush  tlie  fiery  floods  of  hght 

Ripening  the  mountain's  silver  stores  : 

While  in  some  cavern's  horrid  shade. 

The  panting  Indian  hides  his  head. 

And  oft  the  approach  of  eve  implores,  10 

II. 

But  lo,  on  this  deserted  coast 

How  pale  the  sun  !  how  thick  the  air ! 

Mustering  his  storms,  a  sordid  host, 

Lo,  winter  desolates  the  year. 

The  fields  resign  their  latest  bloom  ; 

No  more  the  breezes  waft  perfume. 

No  more  the  streams  in  music  roll : 

But  snows  fall  dark,  or  rains  resound ; 

And,  while  great  Nature  mourns  around. 

Her  griefs  infect  the  human  soul.  20 

III. 

Hence  the  loud  city's  busy  throngs 

Urge  the  warm  bowl  and  splendid  fire  : 

Harmonious  dances,  festive  songs. 

Against  the  spiteful  heaven  conspire. 

Meantime  perhaps  with  tender  fears 

Some  village-dame  the  curfew  hears. 

While  round  the  hearth  her  children  play  : 

At  morn  their  father  went  abroad ; 

The  moon  is  sunk  and  deep  the  road ; 

She  sighs,  and  wonders  at  his  stay.  30 


BOOKTHEFIRST.  9 

IV. 

But  thou,  my  lyre,  awake,  arise 

And  hail  the  Sun's  returning  force  : 

Even  now  he  climbs  the  northern  skies. 

And  health  and  hope  attend  his  course. 

Then  louder  howl  the  aerial  waste. 

Be  earth  with  keener  cold  imbraced. 

Yet  gentle  hours  advance  their  wing ; 

And  Fancy,  mocking  winter's  might. 

With  flowers  and  dews  and  streaming  light 

Already  decks  the  new-born  spring.  40 

V. 

O  fountain  of  the  golden  day  ! 

Could  mortal  vows  pi'omote  thy  speed. 

How  soon  before  thy  vernal  ray 

Should  each  unkindly  damp  recede  ! 

How  soon  each  hovering  tempest  fly. 

Whose  stores  for  mischief  arm  the  sky, 

Prompt  on  our  heads  to  burst  amain. 

To  rend  the  forest  from  the  steep. 

Or,  thundering  o'er  the  Baltic  deep. 

To  whelm  the  merchant's  hopes  of  gain  !  60 

VI. 

But  let  not  man's  unequal  views 

Presume  o'er  Nature  and  her  laws  : 

'Tis  his  with  grateful  joy  to  use 

The  indulgence  of  the  sovran  cause; 

Secure,  that  health  and  beauty  springs 

Through  this  majestic  frame  of  things. 

Beyond  what  he  can  reach  to  know  ; 

And  that  Heaven's  all-subduing  will. 

With  good  the  progeny  of  ill, 

Attempereth  every  state  below.  60 


10  ODE   II.      No.   2. 

VII. 

How  pleasing  wears  the  wintry  night. 

Spent  with  the  old  illustrious  dead  ! 

While,  by  the  taper's  trembling  light, 

I  seem  those  awful  scenes  to  tread 

Where  chiefs  or  legislators  lie. 

Whose  triumphs  move  before  my  eye 

In  arms  and  antique  pomp  array 'd ; 

While  now  I  taste  the  Ionian  song. 

Now  bend  to  Plato's  godlike  tongue 

Resounding  through  the  olive  shade.  70 

VIII. 
But  should  some  cheerful,  equal  friend 

Bid  leave  the  studious  page  awhile. 

Let  mirth  on  wisdom  then  attend. 

And  social  ease  on  learned  toil. 

Then  while,  at  love's  uncareful  shrine. 

Each  dictates  to  the  god  of  wine 

Her  name  whom  all  his  hopes  obey. 

What  flattering  dreams  each  bosom  warm ! 

While  absence,  heightening  every  charm. 

Invokes  the  slow-returning  May.  80 

IX. 

May  !  thou  delight  of  heaven  and  earth. 

When  will  thy  genial  star  arise  ? 

The  auspicious  morn,  which  gives  thee  birth,  * 

Shall  bring  Eudora  to  my  eyes. 

Within  her  sylvan  haunt  behold. 

As  in  the  happy  garden  old. 

She  moves  like  that  primeval  fair : 

Thither,  ye  silver-sounding  lyres, 

*  Var.   When,  the  dear  place  which  gave  her  birth, 
Restore  Lucinda  to  my  eyes  ? 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  li 

Ye  tender  smiles,  ye  chaste  desires. 

Fond  hope  and  mutual  faith,  repair.  90 

X. 

And  if  believing  love  can  read 

His  better  omens  in  her  eye. 

Then  shall  my  fears,  O  charming  maid. 

And  every  pain  of  absence  die  : 

Then  shall  my  jocund  harp,  attuned 

To  thy  true  ear,  with  sweeter  sound 

Pursue  the  free  Horatian  song : 

Old  Tyne  shall  listen  to  ray  tale. 

And  echo,  down  the  bordering  vale. 

The  liquid  melody  prolong.  100 

ODE     III. 

TO  A  FRIEiND,  UNSUCCESSFUL  IN  LOVE. 

I 

Indeed,  my  Phaedria,  if  to  find 

That  wealth  can  female  wishes  gain. 

Had  e'er  disturb'd  your  thoughtful  mind. 

Or  cost  one  serious  moment's  pain, 

I  should  have  said  that  all  the  rules. 

You  learn'd  of  moralists  and  schools. 

Were  very  useless,  very  vain.  7 

n. 

Yet  I  perhaps  mistake  the  case- 
Say,  though  with  this  heroic  air. 
Like  one  that  holds  a  nobler  chace. 
You  try  the  tender  loss  to  bear, 
Does  not  your  heart  renounce  your  tongue  ? 


12  ODE    III. 

Seems  not  my  censure  strangely  wrong 

To  count  it  such  a  slight  affair  ?  14- 

III. 
When  Hesper  gilds  the  shaded  sky. 

Oft,  as  you  seek  the  well-known  grove, 

Methinks  I  see  you  cast  your  eye 

Back  to  the  morning- scenes  of  love  : 

Each  pleasing  word  you  heard  her  say. 

Her  gentle  look,  her  graceful  way. 

Again  your  struggling  fancy  move.  21 

IV. 
Then  tell  roe,  is  your  soul  entire  ? 

Does  Wisdom  calmly  hold  her  throne  ? 

Then  can  you  question  each  desire. 

Bid  this  remain,  and  that  begone  ? 

No  tear  half-starting  from  your  eye  ? 

No  kindling  blush  you  know  not  why  ? 

No  stealing  sigh,  nor  stifled  groan  .''  28 

V. 

Away  with  this  unmanly  mood  ! 

See  where  the  hoary  churl  appears. 

Whose  hand  hath  seized  the  favourite  good 

Which  you  reserved  for  happier  years  : 

While,  side  by  side,  the  blushing  maid 

Shrinks  from  his  visage,  half  afraid. 

Spite  of  the  sickly  joy  she  wears.  35 

vr. 

Ye  guardian  powers  of  love  and  fame. 
This  chaste  harmonious  pair  behold  ; 
And  thus  reward  the  generous  flame 
Of  all  who  barter  vows  for  gold. 
O  bloom  of  youth,  O  tender  charms 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  IS 

Well-buried  in  a  dotard's  arms  ! 

O  equal  price  of  beauty  sold  t  42 

VII. 
Cease  then  to  gaze  with  looks  of  love  : 

Bid  her  adieu,  the  venal  fair  : 

Unworthy  she  your  bliss  to  prove ; 

Then  wherefore  should  she  prove  your  care  ? 

No  :  lay  your  myrtle  garland  down ; 

And  let  awhile  the  willow's  crown 

With  luckier  omens  bind  your  hair.  49 

VIII. 
O  just  escaped  the  faithless  main. 

Though  driven  unwilling  on  the  land  ; 

To  guide  your  favour'd  steps  again. 

Behold  your  better  Genius  stand: 

Where   Truth  revolves  her  page  divine. 

Where  Virtue  leads  to  Honour's  shrine. 

Behold,  he  lifts  his  awful  hand.  ,56 

IX. 

Fix  but  on  these  your  ruling  aim. 

And  Time,  the  sire  of  manly  care. 

Will  Fancy's  dazzling  colours  tame  : 

A  soberer  dress  will  beauty  wear  : 

Then  shall  esteem  by  knowledge  led, 

Inthrone  within  your  heart  and  head 

Some  happier  love,  some  truer  fair.  G3 


B 


14  ODE    IV. 

ODE    IV. 

AFFECTED  INDIFFERENCE, 

TO     THE     SAME. 
J. 

X  ES  :  you  contemn  the  purjured  maid 
Who  all  your  favourite  hopes  betray'd  : 
Nor,  though  her  heart  should  home  return^ 
Her  tuneful  tongue  its  falsehood  mourn. 
Her  winning  eyes  your  faith  implore. 
Would  you  her  hand  receive  again. 
Or  once  dissemble  your  disdain. 
Or  listen  to  the  syren's  theme. 
Or  stoop  to  love  :  since  now  esteem 
And  confidence,  and  friendship,  is  no  more,  H 

II. 
Yet  tell  me,  Phaedria,  tell  me  why. 

When,  summoning  your  pride,  you  try 

To  meet  her  looks  with  cool  neglect. 

Or  cross  her  walk  with  slight  respect, 

(For  so  is  falsehood  best  repaid) 

Whence  do  your  cheeks  indignant  glow  ? 

Why  is  your  struggling  tongue  so  slow  ? 

What  means  that  darkness  on  your  brow  ? 

As  if  with  all  her  broken  vow 

You  meant  the  fair  apostate  to  upbraid  ?  20 


BOOK   THE  FIRST.  15 

O  D  E     V. 

AGAINST   SUSPICION. 

I. 

wH  fly  !  'tis  dire  Suspicion's  mien ; 
And,  meditating  plagues  unseen. 

The  sorceress  hither  bends  : 
Behold  her  torch  in  gall  imbrued  : 
Behold— her  garment  drops  with  blood 

Of  lovers  and  of  friends.  6 

ir. 

Fly  far  !   Already  in  your  eyes 
I  see  a  pale  suffusion  rise  ; 

And  soon  through  every  vein. 
Soon  will  her  secret  venom  spread. 
And  all  your  heart  and  all  your  head 

Imbibe  the  potent  stain.  12 

III. 
Then  many  a  demon  will  she  raise 

To  vex  your  sleep,  to  haunt  your  ways ; 

While  gleams  of  lost  delight 
Raise  the  dark  tempest  of  the  brain. 
As  lightning  shines  across  the  main 

Through  whirlwinds  and  through  night.      18 

IV. 

No  more  can  faith  or  candour  move ; 

But  each  ingenuous  deed  of  love. 

Which  reason  would  applaud. 
Now,  smiling  o'er  her  dark  distress, 
Fancy  malignant  strives  to  dress 

Like  injury  and  fraud,  21- 


IG  O  D  E   V. 

V. 

Farewell  to  virtue's  peaceful  times : 
Soon  will  you  stoop  to  act  the  crimes 

Which  thus  you  stoop  to  fear  : 
Guilt  follows  guilt ;  and  where  the  train 
Begins  with  wrongs  of  such  a  gtain> 

What  horrora  form  the  rear !  20 

VI. 
'Tis  thus  to  work  her  baleful  power 

Suspicion  waits  the  sullen  hour 

Of  fretfulness  and  strife. 
When  care  the  infirraer  bosom  wrings. 
Or  EuRUs  wav^es  his  murky  wings 

To  damp  the  seats  of  life.  36 

VII. 
But  comcj  forsake  the  scene  unbless'd 

Which  first  beheld  your  faithful  breast 

To  groundless  fears  a  prey  : 
Come,  where  with  my  prevailing  lyre 
The  skies,  the  streams,  the  groves  conspire 

To  charm  your  doubts  away.  42 

VIII. 
Throned  in  the  sun's  descending  car, 

What  power  unseen  diffuseth  far 

This  tenderness  of  mind  ? 
What  Genius  smiles  on  yonder  flood  ? 
What  God,  in  whispers  from  the  wood. 

Bids  every  thought  be  kind  ?  i 

IX. 

O  THOU  whate'er  thy  awful  name. 

Whose  wisdom  our  untoward  frame 
With  social  love  restrains ; 


BOOK  THE  tIRST.  17 

Thou,  who  by  fair  affection's  ties 
Givest  us  to  double  all  our  joys 

And  half  disarm  our  pains ;  5* 

*X. 
If  far  from  Dyson  and  from  me 

Suspicion  took,  by  thy  decree. 

Her  everlasting  flight ; 
If  firm  on  virtue's  ample  base 
Thy  parent  hand  has  deign'd  to  raise 

Our  friendship's  honour'd  height  j  60 

XL 

Let  universal  candour  still. 

Clear  as  yon  heaven-reflecting  rill. 

Preserve  tny  open  mind  ; 
Nor  this  nor  that  man's  crooked  ways 
One  sordid  doubt  within  me  raise 

To  injure  human  kind.  6G 

'  This  staraa  Kasfozuid  in  a  copy  presented  by  Akinside. 

ODE     VI. 

HYMN   TO   CHEERFULNESS. 

JljLOW  thick  the  shades  of  evening  close  ! 
How  pale  the  sky  with  weight  of  snows  I 
Haste,  light  the  tapers,  urge  the  fire. 
And  bid  the  joyless  day  retire. 

'Alas,  in  vain  I  try  within 

To  brighten  the  dejected  scene, 
While,  roused  by  grief,  these  fiery  pains 
'J  ear  the  frail  texture  of  my  veins  ; 
While  winter's  voice,  that  storms  around^ 
Bb  2 


18  ODE    VI.  *' 

And  yon  deep  death-bell's  groaning  sound  lyC 

Renew  my  mind's  oppressive  gloom. 
Till  starting  horror  shakes  the  room. 

Is  there  in  nature  no  kind  power 
To  sooth  affliction's  lonely  hour  ? 
To  blunt  the  edge  of  dire  disease. 
And  teach  these  wintry  shades  to  please  ? 
Come,  CHEERFULNESS,  triimiphant  fair. 
Shine  through  the  hovering  cloud  of  care  : 
O  sweet  of  language,  mild  of  mien, 
O  virtue's  friend  and  pleasure's  queen,  20 

Assuage  the  flames  that  burn  my  breast. 
Compose  my  jarring  thoughts  to  rest; 
And  while  thy  gracious  gifts  I  feel. 
My  song  shall  all  thy  praise  reveal. 

As  once  ('twas  in  Astraja's  reign) 
The  vernal  powers  renew'd  their  train, 
It  happen'd  that  immortal  Love 
Was  ranging  through  the  spheres  above, 
And  downward  hither  cast  his  eye 
The  year's  returning  pomp  to  spy.  30 

He  saw  the  radiant  god  of  day. 
Waft  in  his  car  the  rosy  May  ; 
The  fragrant  Airs  and  genial  Hours 
Were  shedding  round  him  dews  and  flowers ; 
Before  his  wheels  Aurora  pass'd. 
And  Hesper's  golden  lamp  was  last. 
But,  fairest  of  the  blooming  throng. 
When  Health  majestic  moved  along. 
Delighted  to  survey  below 

The  joys  which  from  her  presence  flow,  40 

While  earth  enliven'd  hears  her  voice. 


BbOK   THE   FIRST.  t^ 

And  swains,  and  flocks,  and  fields  rejoice  ; 
Then  mighty  Love  her  charms  confessed. 
And  soon  his  vows  inclined  her  breast. 
And,  known  from  that  auspicious  morn. 
The  pleasing  Cheerfulness  was  born. 

Thou,  Cheerfulness,  by  Heaven  design 'd 
To  sway  the  movements  of  the  mind. 
Whatever  fretful  passion  springs. 
Whatever  wayward  fortune  brings  50 

To  disarrange  the  power  within. 
And  strain  the  musical  machine  : 
ITiou,  Goddess,  thy  attempering  hand 
Doth  each  discordant  string  command. 
Refines  the  soft,  and  swells  the  strong  ; 
And  joining  Nature's  general  song. 
Through  many  a  varying  tone,  unfolds 
The  harmony  of  human  soulsv 

Fair  guardian  of  domestic  life. 
Kind  banisher  of  homebred  strife,  60 

Nor  sullen  lip,  nor  taunting  eye 
Deforms  the  scene  where  thou  art  by : 
No  sickening  husband  damns  the  hour 
Which  bound  his  joys  to  female  power  j 
No  pining  mother  weeps  the  cares 
Which  parents  waste  on  thankless  heirs  ; 
The  officious  daughters  pleased  attend  ; 
The  brother  adds  the  name  of  friend  : 
By  thee  with  flowers  their  board  is  crown'd. 
With  songs  from  thee  tlieir  walks  resound ;         70 
And  morn  with  welcome  lustre  shines. 
And  evening  unperceived  declines. 


20  O  D  E    VI. 

Is  there  a  youth,  whose  anxious  heart 
Labours  with  Love's  unpitied  smart  ? 
Though  now  he  stray  by  rills  and  bovvers. 
And  weeping  waste  the  lonely  hours. 
Or  if  the  nymph  her  audience  deign. 
Debase  the  story  of  his  pain 
With  slavish  looks,  discolour'd  eyes. 
And  accents  faltering  into  sighs ;  8(J 

Yet  thou,  auspicious  power,  with  ease 
Can'st  yield  him  happier  arts  to  please. 
Inform  his  mien  with  manlier  charms. 
Instruct  his  tongue  with  nobler  arms. 
With  more  commanding  passion  move  • 
And  teach  the  dignity  of  Love. 

Friend  to  the  Muse  and  all  her  train. 
For  thee  I  court  the  Muse  again  : 
The  Muse  for  thee  may  well  exert 
Her  pomp,  her  charms,  her  fondest  art,  90 

Who  owes  to  thee  that  pleasing  sway 
Which  earth  and  peopled  heaven  obey. 
Let  melancholy's  plaintive  tongue 
Repeat  what  la^er  bards  have  sung  ; 
But  thine  was  Homek's  ancient  might. 
And  thine  victorious  Pindar's  flight : 
Thy  hand  each  *  Lesbian  wreath  attired  : 
Thy  lip  t  Sicilian  reeds  inspired  : 
Thy  spirit  lent  the  glad  perfume 
Whence  yet  the  flowers  of  j  Teos  bloom  ;         100 
Whence  yet  from  Tibur's  Sabine  vale 
Delicious  blows  the  enlivening  gale, 

•  Alco'us  and  Sappko.  f  Theocritus-  ^  Anacreon- 

Var.        V,  94.     Instruct  the  nighihj  strains  of  Young, 


BOOK  THE   FIRST.  21 

While  Horace  calls  thy  sportife  choir. 
Heroes  and  nymphs,  around  his  lyre. 

But  see  where  yonder  pensive  sage 
(A  prey  perhaps  to  fortune's  rage, 
l^erhaps  by  tender  griefs  oppressed. 
Or  glooms  congenial  to  his  breast) 
Retires,  in  desart  scenes  to  dwell. 
And  bids  the  joyless  world  farewell.  1 10 

Alone,  he  treads  the  autumnal  shade. 
Alone,  beneath  the  mountain  laid 
He  sees  the  nightly  damps  ascend. 
And  gathering  storms  aloft  impend ; 
He  hears  the  neighbouring  surges  roll. 
And  raging  thunders  shake  the  pole  : 
Then,  struck  by  every  object  round. 
And  stunn'd  by  every  horrid  sound. 
He  asks  a  clue  for  Nature's  ways  j 
But  EVIL  haunts  him  through  the  maze :  120 

He  sees  ten  thousand  demons  rise 
To  wield  the  empire  of  the  skies. 
And  Chance  and  Fate  assume  the  rod. 
And  Malice  blot  the  throne  of  God. 
— O  THOU,  whose  pleasing  power  I  sing. 
Thy  lenient  influence  hither  bring  ; 
Compose  the  storm,  dispel  the  gloom. 
Till  Nature  wear  her  wonted  bloom. 
Till  fields  and  shades  their  sweets  exhale. 
And  music  swell  each  opening  gale  :  I'oO 

Then  o'er  his  breast  thy  softness  pour. 
And  let  him  learn  the  timely  hour 


22  ODE    VI. 

To  trace  the  world's  benignant  laws. 

And  judge  of  that  presiding  cavse 

Who  founds  on  discord,  beauty's  reign. 

Converts  to  pleasure  every  pain. 

Subdues  each  hostile  form  to  rest,  • 

And  bids  the  universe  be  bless'd. 

O  THOU,  whose  pleasing  power  I  sing. 
If  right  I  touch  the  votive  string,  140 

If  equal  praise  I  yield  thy  name. 
Still  govern  thou  thy  poet's  flame  ; 
Still  with  the  Muse  my  bosom  share. 
And  sooth  to  peace  intruding  care. 
But  most  exert  thy  pleasing  power 
On  Friendship's  consecrated  hour  ; 
And  while  my  Dyson  points  the  road 
To  godlike  wisdom's  calm  abode. 
Or  warm  in  freedom's  ancipnt  cause 
Traceth  the  source  of  Albion's  laws,  150 

Add  Thou  o'er  all  the  generous  toil 
The  light  of  thy  unclouded  smile. 
But,  if  by  fortune's  stubborn  sway 
From  him  and  friendship  torn  away, 
I  court  the  Muse's  healing  spell 
For  griefs  that  still  with  absence  dwell. 
Do  thou  conduct  my  fancy's  dreams 
To  such  indulgent,  placid  themes. 
As  just  the  struggling  breast  may  cheer 
And  just  suspend  the  starting  tear,  160 

Yet  leave  that  sacred  sense  of  woe 
Which  none  but  friends  and  lovers  know. 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  23 

ODE    VII. 

ON  THE   USE  OF   POETRY. 

I. 

^  OT  for  themselves  did  human  kind 
Contrive  the  parts  by  Heaven  assigned 

On  life's  wide  scene  to  play  : 
Not  SciPio's  force,  nor  Cesar's  skill 
Can  conquer  glory's  arduous  hill. 

If  Fortune  close  the  way.  6 

H. 

Yet  still  the  self-depending  soul. 

Though  last  and  least  in  fortune's  roll. 

His  proper  sphere  commands ; 
And  knows  what  Nature's  seal  bestow 'd. 
And  sees,  before  the  throne  of  God, 

The  rank  in  which  he  stands.  12 

HI. 
Who  train'd  by  laws  the  future  age. 

Who  rescued  nations  from  the  rage 

Of  partial,  factious  power. 
My  heart  with  distant  homage  views ; 
Content  if  thou,  celestial  Mlsk, 

Did'st  rule  my  natal  hour.  ;  g 

IV. 
Not  far  l)eneath  the  Hero's  fctf. 
Nor  from  the  Legislatok's  seat 

Stands  far  remote  the  Bahu. 
Though  not  with  laiblic  terrors  crown'd. 


24-  ODE    VIL 

Yet  wider  shall  his  rule  be  found. 

More  lastiHg  his  award.  St 

V. 

Lycukcus  fashion'd  Sparta's  fame. 

And  PoMPEY  to  the  Roman  name 

Gave  universal  sway  : 
Where  are  they  ?— Homer's  reverend  page 
Holds  empire  to  the  thirtieth  age. 

And  tongues  and  climes  obey.  30 

VI. 

And  thus  when  William's  acts  divine 

No  longer  shall  from  Bourson's  line 

Draw  one  vindictive  vow ; 
When  Sidney  shall  with  Cato  rest. 
And  RussEL  move  the  patriot's  breast 
No  more  than  Brutus  now  j  S6 

vn. 

Yet  then  shall  Shakespeare's  powerful  art 
\       O'er  every  passion,  every  heart. 

Confirm  his  awful  throne  : 
Tyrants  shall  bow  before  his  laws ; 
And  freedom's,  glory's,  virtue's  cause. 

Their  dread  assertor  own.  12 


25 

ODE    VIII. 

ON   LEAVING  HOLLAND. 

L    ]. 

Jr  AREWELL  to  Lejden's  lonely  bound. 
The  Belgian  Muse's  sober  seat ; 
Where  dealing  frugal  gifts  around 
To  all  the  favourites  at  her  feet. 
She  trains  the  body's  bulky  frame 
For  passive,  persevering  toils ; 
And  lest,  from  any  prouder  aim. 
The  daring  mind  should  scorn  her  homely  spoils. 
She  breathes  maternal  fogs  to  damp  its  restless  flame. 

L     2. 
Farewell  the  grave,  pacific  air,  10 

Where  never  mountain  zephyr  blew  : 

The  marshy  levels  lank  and  bare, 

W'hich  Pan,  which  Ccre^  never  knew  : 

The  Naiads,  with  obscene  attire. 

Urging  in  vain  their  urns  to  flow  ; 

While  round  them  chant  the  croaking  choir, 

And  haply  sooth  some  lover's  prudent  woe,  17 

Or  prompt  some  restive  bard  and  modulate  his  lyre. 

L      3. 
Farewell,  ye  nymphs  !  whom  sober  care  of  gain 

Snatch'd  in  your  cradles  from  the  god  of  love  : 

She  render'd  all  his  boasted  arrows  vain  ;  ^ 

And  all  his  gifts  did  he  in  spite  remove. 

Yc  too,  the  slow-eyed  fathers  of  the  land. 

With  whom  dominion  steals  from  hand  to  hand, 

Unown'd,  undignified  by  public  choice, 

Cc 


26  ODE    VIII. 

I  go  where  Liberty  to  all  is  known. 
And  tells  a  monarch  on  his  throne. 
He  reigns  not  but  by  her  preserving  voice.  28 

II.     1. 
O  my  loved  England,  when  with  thee 

Shall  I  sit  down  to  part  no  more  ? 

Far  from  this  pale  discolour'd  sea, 

,That  sleeps  upon  the  reedy  shore  : 

When  shall  I  plough  thy  azure  tide  ? 

When  on  thy  hills  the  flocks  admire. 

Like  mountain  snows ;  till  down  their  side 

I  trace  the  village  and  the  sacred  spire,  36 

While  bowers  and  copses  green  the  golden  slope  divide  ?  j 

II.    2.  1 

Ye  nymphs,  who  guard  the  pathless  grove. 
Ye  blue-eyed  sisters  of  the  streams. 
With  whom  I  wont  at  morn  to  rove. 
With  whom  at  noon  I  talk'd  in  dreams  ; 
O  take  me  to  your  haunts  again. 
The  rocky  spring,  the  greenwoodfglade. 
To  guide  my  lonely  footsteps  deign,  4 1 

To  prompt  my  slumbers  in  the  murmuring  shade. 
And  sooth  my  vacant  ear  with  many  an  airy  strain. 

IL    3. 
And  thou,  my  faithful  harp,  no  longer  mourn 
Thy  drooping  master's  inauspicious  hand ; 
Now  brighter  skies  and  fresher  gales  return. 
Now  fairer  maids  thy  melody  demand. 
Daughters  of  Albion,  listen  to  my  lyre  ! 
O  Phcebus,  guardian  of  the  Aonian  choir. 
Why  sounds  not  mine  harmonious  as  thy  own.. 
When  all  the  virgin  deities  above 


BOOKTHEFIRST.  27 

With  Venus  and  with  Juno  move 
In  concert  round  the  Olympian  father's  throne  !         56 

111.  1. 
Thee  too,  protectress  of  my  lays. 

Elate  with  whose  majestic  call 

Above  degenerate  Latium's  praise. 

Above  the  slavish  boast  of  Gaul, 

I  dare  from  impious  thrones  reclaim. 

And  wanton  sloth's  ignoble  charms. 

The  honours  of  a  poet's  name 

To  Somer's  counsels,  or  to  Hamden's  arms,  64' 

Thee  Freedom,  I  rejoin,  and  bless  thy  genuine  flame. 

III.  2. 
Great  Citizen  of  Albion  !    thee 

Heroic  valour  still  attends. 

And  useful  Science  pleased  to  see 

How  Art  her  studious  toil  extends. 

While  Truth,  diffusing  from  on  high 

A  lustre  unconfined  as  day, 

Fills  and  commands  the  public  eye ; 

Till,  pierced  and  sinking  by  her  powerful  ray,        7  3 

Tame  faith  and  monkish  awe,  like  nightly  demons,  fly. 

III.   3. 
Hence  the  whole  land  the  Patriot's  ardour  shares  : 

Hence  dread  religion  dwells  with  social  joy  j 

And  holy  passions  and  unsullied  cares. 

In  youth,  in  age,  domestic  life  employ. 

O  fair  Britannia,  hail  ! — With  partial  love 

The  tril>es  of  men  their  native  seats  approve. 

Unjust  and  hostile  to  each  foreign  fame  : 

But  when  for  generous  minds  and  manly  laws 

A  nation  holds  her  prime  applause. 

There  public  zeal  shall  all  reproof  disclaim.  84 


28 

ODE    IX. 

TO    CURIO.* 

I. 

1  IIRICE  hath  the  spring  beheld  thy  faded  fame 
Since  I  exulting  grasp'd  the  tuneful  shell : 
Eager  through  endless  years  to  sound  thy  name. 
Proud  that  my  memory  with  thine  should  dwell. 
How  hast  thou  stain'd  the  splendor  of  my  choice  ! 
Those  godlike  forms  which  hover'd  round  thy  voice. 
Laws,  freedom,  glory,  whither  are  they  flown  ? 
What  can  I  now  of  thee  to  Time  report. 
Save  thy  fond  country  made  thy  impious  sport. 
Her  fortune  and  her  hope  the  victims  of  thy  own  ?     10 

ir. 

There  are  with  eyes  unmoved  and  reckless  heart 
Who  saw  thee  from  thy  summit  fall  thus  low; 
Who  deem'd  thy  arm  extended  but  to  dart 
The  public  vengeance  on  thy  private  foe. 
But,  spite  of  every  gloss  of  envious  minds. 
The  owl-eyed  race  whom  virtue's  lustre  blinds. 
Who  sagely  prove  that  each  man  hath  his  price, 
I  still  believed  thy  aim  from  blemish  free  ; 
I  yet,  even  yet  believe  it,  spite  of  thee 
And  all  thy  painted  pleas  to  greatness  and  to  vice.    26 

•  See  the  Epistle  to  "Corio''  at  the  end  cf  the  Odes :  it  was 
first  published  in  1744,  when  a  celebrated  statesman,  Pullfiey  Farl 
of  Bath  (after  a  long  and  at  last  a  successful  opposition  to  an  unj  opi'- 
lar  minister)  had  deserted  the  cause  of  his  countrj-,  and  become  the 
foremo  t  in  support  of  the  same  measures  he  had  for  a  length 
of  time  contended  against.  It  was  afterwards  altered  into  this 
Ode: — a  performance,  in  the  judgment  of  Dr.  Johnson,  disgraceful 
only  to  its  author!! — The  Epistle  is  too  curious  to  be  omitted. 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  2d 

m. 

•■'Thou  didst  not  dream  of  liberty  decay'd, 
"  Nor  wish  to  make  her  guardian  laws  more  strong  ; 
"  But  the  rash  many,  first  by  thee  misled, 
"  Bore  thee  at  length  unwillingly  along." 
Rise  from  your  sad  abodes,  ye  curst  of  old 
For  faith  deserted,  or  for  cities  sold. 
Own  here  one  untried,  unexampled  deed  ; 
One  mystery  of  shame  from  Cuuio  learn. 
To  beg  the  infamy  he  did  not  earn,  29 

And  'scape  in  guilt's  disguise  from  virtue's  ofTer'd  meed. 

IV. 

For  saw  we  not  that  dangerous  power  avow'd 

Whom  treedom  oft  hath  found  her  mortal  bane. 

Whom  public  wisdom  ever  strove  to  exclude. 

And  but  with  blushes  sufl'ereth  in  her  train  ? 

Corruption  vaunted  her  bewitching  spoils. 

O'er  court,  o'er  senate,  spread  in  pomp  her  toils. 

And  called  herself  the  state's  directing  soul : 

Till  Curio,  like  a  good  magician  tried 

With  eloquence  and  reason  at  his  'side,  39 

By  strength  of  holier  spells  the  inchantress  to  control. 

V. 

Soon  with  thy  country's  hope  thy  fame  extends  : 

The  rescued  merchant  oil  thy  words  resounds  : 

Thee  and  thy  cause  the  rural  hearth  defends : 

Ilis  bowl  to  thee  the  grateful  sailor  crowns  : 

The  learn'd  recluse,  with  awful  zeal  who  read 

Of  Grecian  heroes,  Roman  patriots,  dead. 

Now  with  like  awe  doth  living  merit  scan  : 

While  he,  whom  virtue  in  his  blest  retreat 

Bade  social  ease  and  public  passions  meet. 

Ascends  the  civil  scene,  and  knows  to  l)e  a  man.         50 
Cc  2 


30  O  D  E    IX. 

VI. 

At  length  in  view  the  glorious  end  appear'cl ; 

We  saw  thy  spirit  through  the  senate  reign ; 
And  freedom's  friends  thy  instant  onoen  heard 
Of  laws  for  which  their  fathers  bled  in  vain. 
Waked  in  the  strife  the  public  Genius  rose 
More  keen,  more  ardent,  from  his  long  repose  : 
Deep  through  her  bounds  the  city  felt  his  call : 
Each  crowded  haunt  was  stirr'd  beneath  his  power. 
And  murmuring  challeng'd  the  deciding  hour 
Of  that  too  vast  event,  the  hope  and  dread  of  all.       60 

VII. 
O  ye  good  powers,  who  look  on  human  kind. 

Instruct  the  mighty  moments  as  they  roll : 

And  watch  the  fleeting  shapes  in  Curio's  mind. 

And  steer  his  passions  steady  to  the  goal. 

O  Alfred,  father  of  the  English  name, 

O  valiant  Edward,  first  in  civil  fame, 

O  William,  height  of  public  virtue  pure, 

Bend  from  your  radiant  seats  a  joyful  eye 

Behold  the  sum  of  all  your  labours  nigh,  69 

Your  plans  of  law  complete,  your  ends  of  rule  secure. 

VIII. 
'Twas  then— O  shame  !  O  soul  from  faith  estranged  ! 
O  Albion,  oft  to  flattering  vows  a  prey  ! 
'Twas  then — Thy  thought  what  sudden  frenzy 

changed  ? 
What  rushing  palsy  took  thy  strength  away  ? 
Is  this  the  man  in  freedom's  cause  approved  ? 
The  man  so  great,  so  honour 'd,  so  beloved  ? 
Whom  the  dead  envied  and  the  living  bless'd  ? 
This  patient  slave  by  tinsel  bonds  allured  ? 


BOOK  THE  FIRST.  31 

This  wretched  suitor  for  a  boon  abjured  ? 
Whom  those,  that  feared  him,  scorn ;  that  trusted  him, 
detest  ?  80 

IX. 

O  lost  alike  to  action  and  repose  ! 

With  all  that  habit  of  familiar  fame. 
Sold  to  the  mockery  of  relentless  foes 
And  doom'd  to  exhaust  the  dregs  of  life  in  shame. 
To  act  with  burning  brow  and  throbbing  heart 
A  poor  deserter's  dull  exploded  part. 
To  slight  the  favour  thou  canst  hope  no  more, 
Renoimce  the  giddy  crowd,  the  vulgar  wind. 
Charge  thy  own  lightness  on  thy  country's  mind,  89 
And  from  her  voice  appeal  to  each  tame  foreign  shore. 

X. 

But  England's  sons,  to  purchace  thence  applause. 

Shall  ne'er  the  loyalty  of  slaves  pretend-. 
By  courtly  passions  try  the  public  cause  ; 
Nor  to  the  forms  of  rule  betray  the  end. 
O  race  erect !  by  manliest  passions  moved. 
The  labours  which  to  virtue  stand  approved. 
Prompt  with  a  lover's  fondness  to  survey ; 
Yet,  where  injustice  works  her  wilful  claim. 
Fierce  as  the  flight  of  Jove's  destroying  flame. 
Impatient  to  confront,  and  dreadful  to  repay.  100 

XI. 

These  thy  heart  owns  no  longer.     In  their  room 

See  the  grave  queen  of  pageants.  Honour,  dwell 
Couch'd  in  thy  bosom's  deep  lempestuous  gloom 
Like  some  grim  idol  in  a  sorcerer's  cell. 
Before  her  rights  thy  sickening  reason  flew. 
Divine  persuasion  from  thy  tongue  withdrew. 


32  O  D  E    IX.     ^ 

While  laughter  mock'd,  or  pity  stole  a  sigh  : 
Can  wit  her  tender  movements  rightly  frame 
Where  the  prime  function  of  the  soul  is  lame  ?      109 
Can  Fancy's  feeble  springs  the  force  of  Truth  supply  ? 

XII. 
But  come  :  'tis  time :  strong  Destiny  impends 

To  shut  thee  from  the  joys  thou  hast  betray 'd  ;     ' 

With  princes  fill'd,  the  solemn  fane  ascends. 

By  Infamy,  the  mindful  demon,  sway'd. 

There  vengeful  vows  for  guardian  laws  effaced. 

From  nations  fetter'd,  and  from  towns  laid  waste. 

For  ever  through  the  spacious  courts  resound  : 

Tliere  long  posterity's  united  groan 

And  the  sad  charge  of  horrors  not  their  own,    1 1 9 

Assail  the  giant  chiefs,  and  press  them  to  the  ground. 

XIII. 
In  sight  old  Time,  imperious  judge,  awaits  : 

Above  revenge,  or  fear,  or  pity,  just. 
He  urgeth  onward  to  those  guilty  gates 
The  Great,*  the  Sage,  the  Happy,  and  August. 
And  still  he  asks  them  of  the  hidden  plan 
Whence  every  treaty,  every  war  began. 
Evolves  their  secrets  and  their  guilt  proclaims : 
And  still  his  hands  despoil  them  on  the  road 
Of  each  vain  wreath  by  lying  bards  bestow'd,    129 
And  crush  their  tiophies  huge,  and  rase  their  sculp- 
tured names. 

XIV. 
Ye  mighty  shades,  arise,  give  place,  attend  : 

Here  his  eternal  mansion  Curio  seeks  : 

*  V.  124.  Titles  which  have  been  generally  ascribed  to  the  most 
pernicious  of  men. 


BOOKTHEFIRST.  33 

—Low  doth  proud  Wentworth  to  the  stranger  bend. 
And  his  dire  welconae  hardy  Cufford  speaks  : 
"  He  comes,  rvhom  fate  with  surer  arts  prepared 
"  To  accomplish  all  which  we  but  vainly  dared  ; 
"  Whom  o'er  the  stubborn  herd  she  taught  to  reign  : 
"  Who  sooth'd  with  gaudy  dreams  their  raging  power 
"  Even  to  its  last  irrevocable  hour  ; 
"  Then  baffled  their  rude  strength,  and  broke  them  to 
"  the  chain."  140 

XV. 

But  ye,  whom  yet  wise  Liberty  inspires. 

Whom  for  her  champions  o'er  the  world  she  claims, 
(That  household  godhead  whom  of  old  your  sires 
Sought  in  the  woods  of  Elbe  and  bore  to  Thames) 
Drive  ye  this  hostile  omen  far  away ; 
Their  own  fell  efforts  on  ker  foes  repay; 
Your  wealth,  your  arts,  your  fame,  be  her's  alone  ; 
Still  gird  your  swords  to  combat  on  her  side  ;       1 4-8 
Still  frame  your  laws  her  generous  test  to  abide  j 
And  win  to  her  defence  the  Altar,  and  the  Throne.. 

XVI. 
Protect  her  from  vourselvks,  ere  yet  the  flood 

Of  golden  Luxury,  which  Commerce  pours. 

Hath  spread  that  selfish  fierceness  through  your  blood. 

Which  not  her  lightest  discipline  indures  : 

Snatch  ivomfantaatic  demagogues  her  cause  : 

Dream  not  of  NuMA'd  manners,  Plato's  laws  : 

A  wiser  Founder,  and  a  nobler  plan, 

O  sons  of  Alfked,  were  for  you  assign'd ; 

Bring  lo  that  birthright  but  an  equal  mind. 

And  no  sublimcr  let  will  fate  reserve  for  man.  160 


54 


ODE     X. 

TO   THE    MUSE. 


Qi 


'UEEN  of  my  songs,  harmonious  maid  ! 
Ah  why  hast  thou  withdrawn  thy  aid  ? 
Ah  why  forsaken  thus  my  breast 
With  inauspicious  damps  oppress'd  ? 
Where  is  the  dread  prophetic  heat. 
With  which  my  bosom  wont  to  beat  ? 
Where  all  the  bright  mysterious  dreams 
Of  haunted  groves  and  tuneful  streams. 
That  woo'd  my  genius  to  divinest  themes  ?  9 

II. 

Say,  goddess,  can  the  festal  board, 

•    Or  young  Olympia's  form  adored. 
Say,  can  the  pomp  of  promised  fame 
Relume  thy  faint,  thy  dying  flame  ? 
Or  have  melodious  airs  the  power 

To  give  one  free,  poetic  hour  ? 
Or,  from  amid  the  Elysian  train. 
The  soul  of  Milton  shall  I  gain. 
To  win  thee,  back  with  some  celestial  strain  ?  18 

III. 

0  powerful  strain  !   6  sacred  soul ! 

His  numbers  every  sense  control : 
And  now  again  my  bosom  burns ; 
The  Muse,  the  Muse  herself  returns. 
Such  on  the  banks  of  Tyne,  confessed 

1  hail'd  the  fair  immortal  guest. 


BOOK    THE   FIRST.  35 

When  first  she  seal'd  me  for  her  own. 
Made  all  her  blissful  treasures  known. 
And  bade  me  swear  to  follow  her  alone.  27 


ODE     XI. 

ON    LOVE,    TO    A    FRIEND. 
L 


No. 


foolish  youth— to  virtuous  fame. 
If  now  thy  early  hopes  be  vow'd, 
If  true  Ambition's  nobler  flame 
Command  thy  footsteps  from  the  crowd ; 
Lean  not  to  Love's  inchanting  snare ; 
His  songs,  his  words,  his  looks  beware. 
Nor  join  his  votaries,  the  young  and  fair.  7 

II. 

By  thought,  by  dangers,  and  by  toils. 

The  wreath  of  just  renown  is  worn  ; 
Nor  will  Ambition's  awful  spoils 
The  flowery  pomp  of  ease  adorn  : 
But  Love  unbends  the  force  of  thought ; 
By  Love  unmanly  fears  are  taught ; 
And  Love's  reward  with  gaudy  sloth  is  boufht.      14. 

III. 
Yet  thou  hast  read  in  tuneful  lays. 

And  heard  from  many  a  zealous  breast, 

Tke  pleasing  tale  of  beauty's  praise 

In  wisdom's  lofty  language  dress'd 

Of  beauty  powerful  to  impart 

Each  finer  sense,  each  comlier  art. 

And  sooth  and  polish  man's  ungentle  heart.  21 


56  O  D  E    XL 

IV. 
If  then,  from  Love's  deceit  secure, 

Thus  far  alone  thy  wishes  tend. 

Go ;  see  the  white-wing'd  evening  hour 

On  Delia's  vernal  walk  descend  ;  , 

Go,  while  the  golden  light  serene. 

The  grove,  the  lawn,  the  soflen'd  scene 

Becomes  the  presence  of  the  rural  queen.  28 

V. 
Attend,  while  that  harmonious  tongue 

Each  bosom,  each  desire  commands  : 

Apollo's  lute  by  Hermes  strung 

And  touch'd  by  chaste  Minerva's  hands. 

Attend.     I  feel  a  force  divine, 

O  Delia,  win  my  thonghts  to  thine ; 

That  half  the  colour  of  thy  life  is  mine.  35 

VI. 

Yet  conscious  of  the  dangerous  charm. 

Soon  would  I  turn  my  steps  away ; 
Nor  oft  provoke  the  lovely  harm. 
Nor  lull  my  reason's  watchful  sway. 
But  thou,  my  friend — ^I  hear  thy  sighs  : 
Alas,  I  read  tliy  downcast  eyes ; 
And  thy  tongue  falters  ;  and  thy  colour  flies.  4f 

VII. 
So  soon  again  to  meet  the  fair  ? 

So  pensive  all  this  absent  hour  ? 

— O  yet,  unlucky  youth,  beware. 

While  yet  to  think  is  in  thy  power. 

In  vain  with  Friendship's  flattering  name 

Thy  passion  veils  its  inward  shame ; 

Friendship,  the  treJicherous  fuel  of  thy  flame  !        49 


BOOK   THE    FIRST.  37 

VIII. 
Once,  I  remember,  new  to  love. 

And  dreading  liis  tyrannic  chain, 

I  sought  a  gentle  maid  to  prove 

What  peaceful  joys  in  friendship  reign  : 

Whence  we  forsooth  might  safely  stand. 

And  pitying  view  the  lovesick  band. 

And  mock  the  winged  boy's  malicious  hand.  56 

IX. 

Thus  frequent  pass'd  the  cloudless  day. 

To  smiles  and  sweet  discourse  resign'd ; 

While  I  exulted  to  survey 

One  generous  woman's  real  mind  : 

Till  friendship  soon  my  languid  breast 

Each  night  with  unknown  cares  possess'd, 

Dash'd  my  coy  slumbers,  or  my  dreams  distressed.  63 

X. 
Fool  that  I  was- 'And  now,  even  now 

While  thus  I  preach  the  Stoic  strain. 

Unless  I  shun  Olympia's  view. 

An  hour  unsays  it  all  again. 

O  friend  I— when  Love  directs  her  eyes 

To  pierce  where  every  passion  lies. 

Where  is  the  firm,  the  cautious,  or  the  wise  ?         70 

ODE     XII. 

TO    SIR    FRANCIS    HENRY   DRAKE, 
B  A  R  O  N  E  T. 

I. 

Behold  ;  the  Balance  in  the  sky 
Swilt  on  the  wintry  scale  inclines: 
Dd 


38  ODE    XII. 

To  earthy  caves  the  Dryads  fly. 
And  the  bare  pastures  Pan  resigns. 
Late  did  the  farmer's  fork  o'erspread 
With  recent  soil  the  twice-mown  mead. 
Tainting  the  bloom  which  autumn  knows 
He  whets  the  rusty  coulter  now. 
He  binds  his  oxen  to  the  plough. 
And  wide  his  future  harvest  throws. 

II. 

Now,  Loudon's  busy  confines  round. 

By  Kensington's  imperial  towers, 
From  Highgate's  rough  descent  profound, 
Essexian  heaths,  or  Kentish  bowers. 
Where'er  I  pass,  I  see  approach 
Some  rural  statesman's  eager  coach 
Hurried  by  senatorial  cares  : 
While  rural  nymphs  (alike,  witljin, 
Aspiring  courtly  praise  to  win) 
Debate  their  drese,  reform  their  airs. 

HI. 
&iy,  w'nat  can  now  the  country  boast, 

0  Dkake,  thy  footsteps  to  detain. 
When  peevish  winds  and  gloomy  frost 
The  sunshine  of  the  temper  stain  ? 
Say,  are  the  priests  of  Devon  grown 
I'iientlij  to  this  tolerating  throne. 
Champions  for  George's  legal  right  ? 
Have  general  Freeeom,  equal  Law, 
Won  to  the  glory  of  Nassau 

Each  bold  Wessexian  squire  and  knight  r 

IV. 

1  doubt  it  much ;  and  guess  at  least 


BOOKTHEFIRST.  39 

That  when  the  day,  which  made  us  free. 

Shall  next  return,  that  sacred  feast 

Thou  better  may'st  observe  with  me. 

With  me  the  sulphurous  treason  old 

A  far  inferior  part  shall  hold 

In  that  glad  day's  triumphal  strain  ; 

And  generous  William  be  revered. 

Nor  one  untimely  accent  heard 

Of  James,  or  his  ignoble  reign.  4-0 

V. 
Then,  while  the  Gascon's  fragrant  wine] 

With  modest  cups  our  joy  supplies. 

We'll  truly  thank  the  power  divine 

Who  bade  the  chief,  the  patriot  rise  ; 

Rise  from  heroic  ease  (the  spoil 

Due,  for  his  youth's  Herculean  toil. 

From  Belgium  to  her  saviour  son) 

Rise  with  the  same  unconquer'd  zeal 

For  our  Britannia's  injured  weal. 

Her  laws  defaced,  her  shrines  o'erthrown.  50 

VI. 
He  came.     The  Tyrant  from  our  shore. 

Like  a  forbidden  demon,  lied ; 

And  to  eternal  exile  bore 

Pon(ific  rage  and  vassal  dread. 

There  sunk  the  mouldering  Gothic  reign  : 

New  years  came  forth,  a  liberal  train, 

Call'd  by  the  People's  great  decree. 

'ITiat  day,  my  friend,  let  blessings  crown  : 

— Fill,  to  the  Demicjod's  renown 

From  whom  thou  hast  that  thou  art  free.  CO 

VII. 
Then,  Drake,  (for  wherefore  should  we  part 


40  ODE    XIL 

The  public  and  the  private  weal  ?) 

In  vows  to  her  who  sways  thy  heart. 

Fair  health,  glad  fortune,  will  we  deal. 

Whether  Aglaia's  blooming  cheek. 

Or  the  soft  ornaments  that  speak 

So  eloquent  in  Daphne's  smile. 

Whether  the  piercing  lights  that  fly 

From  the  dark  heaven  of  Mykto's  eye. 

Haply  thy  fancy  then  beguile.  70 

viir. 

For  so  it  is ;  thy  stubborn  breast. 

Though  touch'd  by  many  a  slighter  wound. 

Hath  no  full  conquest  yet  confessed. 

Nor  the  one  fatal  charmer  found. 

While  I,  a  true  and  loyal  swain. 

My  fair  Olympia's  gentle  reign 

Through  all  the  varying  seasons  own. 

Her  genius  still  my  bosom  warms  : 

No  other  maid  for  me  hath  charms. 

Or  I  have  eyes  for  her  alone.  80 


ODE    XIII. 

ON  LYRIC   POETRY. 
I.    1. 

v/NCE  more  I  join  the  Thespian  choir, 
And  taste  the  inspiring  fount  again  : 
O  parent  of  the  Grecian  Lyre, 
Admit  me  to  thy  powerful  strain— 
And  lo,  with  ease  my  step  invades. 


BOOK  THE  FIRST.  41 

The  pathless  vale  and  opening  shades. 

Till  now  1  spy  her  verdant  seat ; 

And  now  at  large  I  drink  the  sound. 

While  these  her  offspring,  listening  round. 

By  turns  her  melody  repeat.  10 

I.    2. 
I  see  Anacreon  smile  and  sing. 

His  silver  tresses  breathe  perfume ; 

His  cheek  displays  a  second  spring 

Of  roses  taught  by  wine  to  bloom. 

Away,  deceitful  cares,  away. 

And  let  me  listen  to  his  lay  ; 

Let  me  the  wanton  pomp  enjoy. 

While  in  smooth  dance  the  light- win  g'd  Hours 

Lead  round  his  lyre  its  patron  powers. 

Kind  laughter  and  convivial  joy.  20 

L    3. 
Broke  from  the  fetters  of  his  native  land. 
Devoting  shame  and  vengeance  to  her  lords. 
With  louder  impulse  and  a  threatening  hand 
The  *  Lesbian  patriot  smites  the  sounding  chords  : 

Ye  wretches,  ye  perfidious  train, 

Ye  cursed  of  gods  and  freeborn  men. 
Ye  murderers  of  the  laws, 

Tliough  now  ye  glory  in  your  lust. 
Though  now  ye  tread  the  feeble  neck  in  dust. 
Yet  Time  and  righteous  Jove  will  judge  your  dread- 
ful cause.  '   30 

II.     1. 
But  lo,  to  Sappho's  melting  airs 

Descends  the  radiant  queen  of  love  : 

.She  smile;',  and  aaks  u  hat  fonder  cares 

•  Alcacuj:. 

D  ci  li 


42  ODE    XIII. 

Her  suppliant's  plaintive  measures  move  : 

Why  is  my  faithful  maid  distress'd  ? 

Who,  Sappho,  wounds  thy  tender  breast  ? 

Say,  flies  he  ?— Soon  he  shall  pursue  : 

Shuns  he  thy  gifts— He  soon  shall  give  : 

Slights  he  thy  sorrows  ?— He  shall  grieve. 

And  soon  to  all  thy  wishes  bow,  40 

II.  2. 
But,  O  Melpomene,  for  whom 

Awakes  thy  golden  shell  again  ? 

What  mortal  breath  shall  e'er  presume 

To  echo  that  unbounded  strain  ? 

Majestic  in  the  frown  of  years. 

Behold,  the  *  Man  of  Thebes  appears  : 

For  some  there  are,  whose  mighty  frame 

The  hand  of  Jove  at  birth  endow'd 

With  hopes  that  mock  the  gazing  crowd  ; 

As  eagles  drink  the  noontide  flame,  50 

II.  3. 

While  the  dim  raven  beats  her  weary  wings. 

And  clamours  far  below.— Propitious  Muse, 
While  I  so  late  unlock  thy  purer  springs. 
And  breathe  wliate'er  thy  ancient  airs  infuse. 
Wilt  thou  for  Albion's  sons  around 
(Ne'er  had'st  tbou  audientie  more  renown'd) 

Thy  charming  arts  employ. 
As  when  the  winds  from  shore  to  shore  58 

Thro'  Greece  thy  lyre's  persuasive  language  bore, 
Till  towns,  and  isles,  and  seas,  return'd  the  vocal  joy  ? 

III.  1. 

Yet  then  did  pleasure's  lawless  throng. 

Oft  rushing  forth  in  loose  attire, 
*  Pindar, 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  43 

Thy  virgin  dance,  thy  graceful  song 

Pollute  with  impious  revels  dire. 

O  fair,  O  chaste,  thy  echoing  shade 

May  no  foul  discord  here  invade  : 

Nor  let  thy  strings  one  *  accent  move. 

Except  what  earth's  untroubled  ear 

'Mid  all  her  social  tribes  may  bear. 

And  heaven's  unerring  throne  approve.  70 

III.  2. 
Queen  of  the  Lyre,  in  thy  retreat 
The  fairest  flowers  of  Pindus  glow; 
The  vine  aspires  to  crown  thy  seat. 
And  myrtles  round  thy  laurel  grow. 
Thy  strings  adapt  their  varied  strain 
To  every  pleasure,  every  pain. 
Which  mortal  tribes  were  born  lo  prove ; 
And  strait  our  passions  rise  or  fall. 
As  at  the  wind's  imperious  call 
The  ocean  swelU,  the  billows  move.  80 

III.  3. 
When  midnight  listens  o'er  the  slumbering  earth. 
Let  me,  O  Mlse,  thy  solemn  whispers  hear : 
When  morning  sends  her  fragrant  breezes  forth. 
With  airy  murmurs  touch  my  opening  ear. 
And  ever  watchful  at  thy  side. 
Let  Wisdom's  awful  suffrage  guide 

The  tenor  of  thy  lay  : 
To  HER  of  old  by  Jove  was  given 
To  judge  the  various  deeds  of  earth  and  heaven  ; 
'Twas  THINE  by  gentle  arts  to  win  us  to  her  sway.  90 

•  One  line  which  dying  he  would  wiih  lo  blot." 


4*  ODE    XIII. 

IV.  1. 

Oft  as,  to  well-earn'd  ease  reslgn'd, 

I  quit  the  maze  where  Science  toils. 

Do  thou  refresh  roy  yielding  mind 

With  all  thy  gay,  delusive  spoils. 

But,  O  indulgent,  come  not  nigh 

The  busy  steps,  the  jealous  eye 

Of  wealthy  care  or  gainful  age ; 

Whose  barren  souls  thy  joys  disdain. 

And  hold  as  foes  to  reason's  reign 

Whome'er  thy  lovely  works  engage.  100 

IV.   2. 
When  Friendship,  and  when  letter'd  mirth 
Haply  partake  my  simple  board. 
Then  let  thy  blameless  hand  call  forth 
The  music  of  the  Teian  chord. 
Or  if  invoked  at  softer  hours, 
O  !  seek  with  me  the  happy  bowers 
That  hear  Olympia's  gentle  tongue  ; 
To  beauty  link'd  with  virtue's  train. 
To  love  devoid  of  jealous  pain, 
ThereXei  the  SAPPHiclute  be  strung.  110 

IV.   3. 
But  when  from  envy  and  from  death  to  claim 

A  hero  bleeding  for  his  native  land ; 

When  to  throw  incense  on  the  vestal  flame 

Of  Liberty  my  genius  gives  command. 

Nor  Theban  voice  nor  Lesbian  lyre  \ 

Prom  thee,  O  Muse,  do  1  require; 

While  my  presaging  mind. 

Conscious  of  powers  she  never  knew, 

Astonish'd  grasps  at  things  beyond  her  view. 

Nor  by  another's  fate  submits  to  be  confined.       1 20 


BOOK  THE  FIRST.  45 

ODE     XIV. 

TO   THE    HONOURABLE   CHARLES 
TOWNSHEND: 

FROM   THE  COUNTRY. 

I. 

J^AY,  TowNsHEND,  what  can  London  boast 
To  pay  thee  for  the  pleasures  lost. 

The  health  to-day  resign'd. 
When  spring  from  this  her  favourite  seat 
Bade  winter  hasten  his  retreat. 

And  met  the  western  wind.  <i 

n. 

Oh  knew'st  thou  how  the  balmy  air. 
The  sun,  the  azure  heavens  prepare 

To  heal  thy  languid  frame. 
No  more  would  noisy  courts  engage  ; 
In  vain  would  lying  Factions  rage 

Thy  sacred  leisure  claim.  12 

IIL 
Oft  I  look'd  forth,  and  oft  admired  ; 
Till  with  the  studious  volume  tired 

I  sought  the  o[)en  d  ay  ; 
And,  sure,  I  cry'd,  the  rural  gods 
Expect  me  in  their  green  abodes, 

And  chide  my  tardy  lay.  18 

IV. 
But  ah  !  in  vain  my  restless  feet 

Traced  every  silent  shad^  scat 


413  ODE    XIV. 

Which  knew  their  forms  of  old  : 
Nor  Naiad,  by  her  fountain  laid. 
Nor  Wood-nymph,  tripping  through  her  glade. 

Did  now  their  rites  unfold  ;  24- 

V. 
Whether  to  nurse  some  infant  oak 

They  turn  the  slowly-tinkling  brook 

And  catch  the  pearly  showers ; 
Or  brush  the  mildew  from  the  woods. 
Or  paint  with  noontide  beams  the  buds. 

Or  breathe  on  opening  flowers.  30 

VI. 

Such  rites,  which  they  with  spring  renew. 

The  eyes  of  care  can  never  view  ; 

And  care  hath  long  been  mine  : 
And  hence  offended  vs  ith  their  guest. 
Since  grief  of  love  my  soul  oppressed. 

They  hide  their  toils  divine.  '3d 

VII. 
But  soon  shall  thy  enlivening  tongue 

This  heart,  by  dear  aftliction  wrung. 

With  noble  hope  inspire  : 
Then  will  the  sylvan  powers  again 
Receive  me  in  their  genial  train. 

And  listen  to  my  lyre.  42 

VIII. 
Beneath  yon  Dryad's  lonely  shade 

A  rustic  altar  shall  be  paid. 

Of  turf  with  laurel  framed  : 
And  thou  the  inscription  wilt  approve  ; 
*'  This  for  the  peace  which,  lost  by  love, 

"  By  friendship  was  reclaim'd."  4i^ 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  47 


ODE    XV. 

TO   THE   EVENING-STAR. 

I. 

-I  0-NIGHT,  retired,  the  queen  of  heaven 

With  young  Endymion  stays  : 
And  now  to  Hi-.sper  it  is  given 
Awhile  to  rule  the  vacant  sky. 
Till  she  shall  to  her  lamp  t-upply 

A  stream  of  brighter  rays.  § 

H. 
O  Hesper,  while  the  starry  throng 

With  awe  thy  path  surrounds. 
Oh  listen  to  my  suppliant  song. 
If  haply  now  the  vocal  sphere 
Can  suffer  thy  delighted  ear 

To  stoop  to  mortal  sounds.  i  2 

III.^ 
So  may  the  bridegroom's  genial  strain 

Thee  still  ipvoke  to  shine  : 
So  may  the  bride's  unmarried  train 
To  livME.v  chaunt  their  flattering  vow. 
Still  thai  his  lucky  torch  may  glow, 

Wjth  lustre  pure  as  thine,  18 

IV. 
Far  other  vow<  must  I  prefer 

To  thy  indulgent  power. 

Alas,  but  now  1  paid  my  tear 


48  ODE    XV. 

On  fair  Olympia's  virgin  tomb  : 
And  ]o,  from  thence,  in  quest  I  roam 

Of  Philomela's  bower.  24 

V. 

Propitious  send  thy  golden  ray. 

Thou  purest  light  above  : 
Let  no  false  flame  seduce  to  stray 
Where  gulph  or  steep  lie  hid  for  harm  : 
But  lead  where  music's  healing  charm 

May  sooth  afflicted  love.  3G 

VI. 

To  them,  by  many  a  grateful  song 

In  happier  seasons  vow'd. 
These  lawns,  Olympia's  haunt,  belong  : 
Oft  by  yon  silver  stream  we  walk'd. 
Or  tix'd,  while  Philomela  talk'd. 

Beneath  yon  copses  stood.  3Q 

VII. 

Nor  seldom,  where  the  beachen  boughs 

That  roofless  tower  invade. 
We  came,  while  her  enchanting  Muse 
The  radiant  moon  above  us  held  : 
Till  by  a  clamorous  Owl  compell'd 

She  fled  the  solemn  shade.  42 

VIII. 

But  hark ;  I  hear  her  liquid  tone. 

Now,  Hesper,  guide  my  feet 
Down  the  red  marie  with  moss  o'ergrown  ; 
Through  yon  wild  thicket  next  the  plain. 
Whose  hawthorns  choke  the  winding  lane 

Which  leads  to  her  retreat,  48 


BOOKTHEFIRST.  4-9 

IX. 

See  the  green  space  :  on  either  hand. 

Enlarged  it  spreads  around  : 
See  in  the  midst  she  takes  her  stand, 
Where  one  old  oak  his  awful  shade 
Extends  o'er  half  the  level  mead 

Inclosed  in  woods  profound.  54 

X. 

Hark,  how  through  many  a  melting  note 

She  now  prolongs  her  lays  : 
How  sweetly  down  the  void  they  float ! 
The  breeze  their  magic  path  attends  : 
The  stars  shine  out :  the  forest  bends  : 

The  wakeful  heifers  gaze.  CO 

XI. 
Whoe'er  thou  art  whom  chance  may  bring 

To  this  sequester'd  spot. 
It  then  the  plaintive  Syren  sing. 
Oh  softly  tread  beneath  her  bower. 
And  think  of  heaven's  disposing  power. 

Of  man's  uncertain  lot.  06 

XII. 

Oh  think,  o'er  all  this  mortal  stage. 

What  mournful  scenes  arise  : 
What  ruin  waits  on  kingly  rage : 
How  often  virtue  dwells  witii  woe : 
How  many  griefs  from  knowledge  flow : 

How  swiftly  pleasure  flies.  72 

xiir. 

O  sacred  bird,  let  me  at  eve. 

Thus  wandering  all  alone. 
Thy  tender  counsel  oft  receive, 
Ee 


50  ODE    XVI. 

Bear  witness  to  thy  pensive  airs. 
And  pity  Nature's  common  cares 

Till  I  forget  my  own.  78 

ODE    XVI. 

TO   CALEB   HARDINGE,   M.   D. 

I. 

VV  ITII  sordid  floods  the  wintry  *  Urn 
Hath  stain'd  fair  Richmond's  level  green  ; 
Her  naked  hill  the  Dryads  mourn. 
No  longer  a  poetic  scene. 
!No  longer  there  thy  raptured  eye 
The  beauleous  forms  of  earth  or  sky 
Surveys  as  in  their  Author's  mind  : 
And  London  shelters  from  the  year 
Thopc  uliom  thy  social  hours  to  share 

Ihe  Attic  Muse  desiga'd.  10 

n. 

From  Hampstead's  airy  summit  me 
Her  guest  the  city  shall  behold. 
What  day  the  people's  stern  decree 
To  unbelieving  kings  is  told, 
V/hen  common  men  (the  dread  of  fame) 
Adjudged  as  one  of  evil  name. 
Before  the  sun,  the  anointed  head. 
Then  s^eek  thou  too  the  pious  town, 
With  no  unworthy  cares  to  crown 

Thai  evening's  awful  shade.  20 

•  Aquarius. 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  51 

in. 

Deem  not  I  call  thee  to  deplore 
The  sacred  martyr  of  the  day. 
By  fast  and  penitential  lore 
To  purge  our  ancient  guilt  away. 
For  this,  on  humble  faith  I  rest 
That  still  our  advocate,  the  priest. 
From  heavenly  wrath  will  save  the  land  j 
Nor  ask  what  rights  our  pardon  gain. 
Nor  how  his  potent  sounds  restrain 

The  thunderer's  lifted  hand.  30 

IV. 

No,  Hardinge  ;  peace  to  church  and  state  ! 

That  evening  let  the  Muse  give  law  : 
While  I  anew  the  theme  relate 
Which  my  fifst  youth  inamour'd  saw. 
Then  will  I  oft  explore  thy  thought. 
What  to  reject  which  Locke  hath  taught. 
What  to  pursue  in  Virgil's  lay  : 
Till  hope  ascends  to  loftiest  things. 
Nor  envies  demagogues  or  kings 

Their  frail  and  vulgar  sway.  40 

V. 
O  versed  in  all  the  human  frame. 

Lead  thou  where'er  my  labour  lies. 

And  English  fancy's  eager  flame 

To  Grecian  purity  chastize  : 

While  hand  in  hand,  at  wisdom's  shrine. 

Beauty  with  Truth  I  strive  to  join. 

And  grave  assent  with  glad  applause ; 

To  paint  the  story  of  the  soul, 


52  ODE    XVII. 

And  Plato's  visions  to  control 

By  t  Verulamian  laws.  ■    50 

ODE     XVII. 

ON   A   SERMON   AGAINST    GLORY. 
MDCCXLVII. 

I. 

V^OME  then,  tell  me,  sage  divine, 
Is  it  an  offence  to  own 
That  our  bosoms  e'er  incline 
Toward  immortal  Glory's  throne  ? 
For  with  me  nor  pomp,  nor  pleasure, 
Bourbon's  might,  Braganza's  treasure. 
So  can  fancy's  dream  rejoice. 
So  conciliate  reason's  choice. 
As  one  approving  word  of  her  impartial  voice.  9 

II. 

If  to  spurn  at  noble  praise 

Be  the  pass-port  to  thy  heaven. 
Follow  thou  those  gloomy  ways  ; 
No  such  law  to  me  was  given. 
Nor,  I  trust,  shall  I  deplore  me. 
Faring  like  my  friends  before  me; 
Nor  an  holier  place  desire 
Than  Timoleon's  arms  acquire. 
And  TuUy's  curule  chair,  and  Milton's  golden  lyre.  18 

f  Verulam  gave  one  of  his  titles  to  Francis  Bacon,  author  of  the 
Novum  Organum. 


BOOKTHE   FIRST.  53 

ODE    XVIII. 

lO    THE   RIGHT   HONOURABLE 

FRANCIS  EARL  OF   HUNTINGDON. 

iMDCCXLVIII. 

I.     1. 

1  HE  wise  and  great  of  every  clime, 
Through  all  the  spacious  walks  of  Time, 
Where'er  the  Muse  her  power  display 'd 
With  joy  have  listen'd  and  obey'd. 
lor,  taught  of  heaven,  the  sacred  Nine 
Persuasive  numbers,  forms  divine, 
To  mortal  sense  inij)art  : 
'I'hcy  best  the  soul  with  glory  fire  ; 
Thoy  noblest  counsels,  boldest  deeds  inspire  ;        9 
And  high  o'er  Fortune's  rage  iiithrone  the  fixed  heart. 

I.  2. 
Nor  less  prevailing  it  their  charm 
The  vengeful  lx)Som  to  disaini ; 
To  melt  the  proud  with  human  woe, 
And  promf)t  unwilling  tears  to  flow . 
Can  wealth  a  power  like  tliis  afibrd  ? 
Can  Cromwell's  arts,  or  IMarlborough';>  .>vvord. 

An  equal  empire  claim.: 
No,  ll\-/iiS(;3.     Thou  my  words  wilt  own  : 
T!iy  breast  the  gifts  of  every  Muse  hath  kr.own  ; 
Nor  shall  the  giver's  love  di-g.'-ace  thy  noble  name.  20 
lie  2 


64  ODE    XVIII. 

I.   3. 
The  Muse's  awful  art. 

And  the  blest  function  of  the  Poet's  tongue. 

Ne'er  shalt  thou  blush  to  honour ;  to  assert 

From  all  that  scorned  vice  or  slavish  fear  hath   sung. 

Nor  shall  the  blandishment  of  Tuscan  strings 

Warbling  at  will  in  pleasure's  myrtie  bower  j 

Nor  shall  the  servile  notes  to  Celtic  kings 

By  flatteiing  minstrels  paid  in  evil  hour. 

Move  thee  to  spurn  the  heavenly  Muse's  reign. 

A  different  strain  30 

And  other  themes 
From  her  prophetic  shades  and  h^low'd  streams 
(Thou  well  can'st  witness)  meet  the  purged  ear  : 
Such,  as  when  Greece  to  her  immortal  shell 
Rejoicing  listen'd,  godlike  sounds  to  hear; 

To  hear  the  sweet  instructress  tell 
(While  men  and  heroes  throng'd  around) 
How  life  its  noblest  use  may  find. 
How  well  for  freedom  be  resign 'd ; 
And  how,  by  glory,  virtue  shall  be  crown'd.  40 

II.   1. 

Such  was  the  *  Chian  father's  strain 
To  many  a  kind  domestic  train. 
Whose  pious  hearth  and  genial  bowl 
Had  cheer'd  the  reverend  pilgrim's  soul ; 
When,  every  hospitable  rite 
With  equal  bounty  to  requite. 

He  struck  his  magic  strings  ; 
And  pour'd  spontaneous  numbers  forth,  48 

And  seized  their  ears  with  tales  of  ancient  worth. 
And  fiU'd  their  musing  hearts  with  vast  heroic  things - 
*  Homer. 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  55 

II.  2. 
Now  oft,  where  happy  spirits  dwell. 

Where  yet  he  tunes  his  charming  shell, 

Oft  near  him,  with  applauding  hands. 

The  Genius  of  his  country  stands. 

To  listening  gods  he  makes  him  known. 

That  MAN  DIVINE  by  whom  were  sown 

-    The  seeds  of  Grecian  fame  ; 

Who  first  the  race  with  freedom  fired ;  58 

From  whom  *  Lycurgus  Sparta's  sons  inspired  ; 

From  whom  Platsean  palms  and  Cyprian  trophies  came. 

Verse  59. 3     *  Lycurfpis  the  Lacedcpmonion 

law-piver  brought  into  Greece  from  Asia  Minor  the  first  complete  copy 
of  Homer's  works. — At  Plat^a  was  fought  the  decisive  battle  between 
the  Persian  army  and  the  united  militia  of  Oreece  under  Pausnnias 
and  Arislidei. — Cimon,  the  Athenian,  erected  a  trophy  in  Cyprus  for 
two  great  victories  gained  on  the  same  day  over  the  Persians  by  sea 
and  land.  Diodorus  Siculu.i  has  presented  the  inscription  which  the 
Athenians  di(fi\ed  to  the xon«ec rated  spoils,  after  this  great  success; 
in  which  it  is  very  remarkable,  that  the  greatness  of  the  occasion 
has  raised  the  manner  of  expression  above  the  usual  simplicity  and 
mnlesty  of  all  other  ancient  inscriptions.     It  is  this  : 

EH.  OY.  r  .  ETPnnHN.  AIIAS.  AIXA.  nONTOS.  ENEIME. 

KAI.  nOAEAS.  ©NHTON.  ©OYPOS.  APH::.   EHEXEr. 

OTAEN  nn.  TOIOYTON-  EniX©ONinN.  TENET'.  ANAPQN. 

EPrON    EN    HnElPHI.  KAI.  KATA.  nONTON.  AMA. 

OIAE.  TAP.  EN.  KVnPrJ.  MHAOTS.  nOAAOTS. 

OAEi:  ANTES. 

•DOlNIKftN.  EKATON.  NAT>;.  EAON.  EN.  nEAAFEl. 

ANAPilN.  nAHeOrZAZ.  META.  A'.  ESTENEN.  AXIS. 

rn'.  AYTfiN. 

nAHFElI'.  AM^DOTEPAI :.  XEPSI.  KPATEI.  nOAEMOT. 

•The  following  translation  is  almost  literal : 

Since  first  the  sea  from  Aiin's  hostile  coast 

Dividr<l  I'urotif,  and  the  god  of  war 

As'wiI'd  imperious  citie.?;    never  yet, 

At  one.'!  ami<l  the  waves  and  on  the  shore, 

Hath  such  .T  Libour  Ijcen  atchievcr)  hy  men 

Who  earth  inhabit.     They,  whose  arms  the  Medcs 

In  ('ifpriit  fclr  peniicif)tis.  tlicv,  the    ame, 

Have  ■■■<);i  from  skilf  :1  'f'/'r  an  h  m'lre<|  ^hlps 

Crowded  witli  warrinr,-;.      .hia  grian«.  in  )x)!h 

llcr  hands  sore  smitten,  by  the  might  of  war. 


56  ODE   xviir. 

II.     3. 
O  noblest,  happiest  age  ! 
When  AmsTiDEs  rul'd,  and  Cimon  fought ; 
When  all  the  generous  fruits  of  Homer's  page 
Exulting  *  Pindar  saw  to  full  perfection  brought. 
O  Pindar,  oft  shalt  thou  be  hail'd  of  me  : 
Not  that  Apollo  fed  thee  from  his  shrine  ; 
Not  that  thy  lips  drank  sweetness  from  the  bee  ; 
Nor  yet  that,  studious  of  thy  notes  divine. 
Pan  danced  their  measure  with  the  sylvan  throng : 

Verse  64.  3  •  Pindar  was  cotemporary  with  Aristides  and  Cimon , 
in  whom  the  glory  of  ancient  Greece,  was  at  its  height.  When  Xer- 
aes  invaded  Greece,  Pindar  was  tnie  to  the  common  interest  of  his 
countrj- ;  though  his  fellow  citizens,  the  Thebaiu,  had  sold  them- 
selves to  the  Persian  kinsr.  In  one  of  his  odes  he  expresses  the  trvrat 
dist«-ess  and  anxiety  of  his  mind,  occasioned  by  the  vast  preparations 
of  AVt«  against  Greece  {Isfhm.8.)  In  another  he  celebrates  the 
victories  of  Salamis,  Plataa,  and  Himera.  (Pylh.  1.  )  It  v. ill  he 
necessary  to  add  two  or  three  other  particulars  of  bis  life,  real  or 
fabulous,  in  order  to  explain  what  follows  in  the  text  concerning  him. 
First  then,  he  was  thought  to  be  so  great  a  favourite  of  Ajtollo,  that 
the  priests  of  that  deity  allotted  him  a  constant  share  of  their  offer- 
ings. It  was  said  of  him,  as  of  some  other  illustrious  men,  that  at 
his  birth  a  swarm  of  I)ees  lighted  on  his  lip«,  and  fed  him  with  their 
honey.  It  was  also  a  tradition  concerning  him,  that  Pan  was  heard 
to  recite  his  poetry,  and  seen  dancing  to  own  of  his  hj'mns  on  the 
mountains  near  Thebes.  But  a  real  historit'al  fact  in  his  life  is,  that 
the  Thebans  imposed  a  large  fine  ujwn  him  on  account  of  the  ven- 
eration which  he  expressed  in  his  poems  for  that  heroic  spirit,  shewn 
by  the  people  of  Athens  in  defence  of  the  common  liberty,  which  his 
own  fell»w  citizens  had  shamefidiy  Ix-trayed.  Au-i,  as  the  argument 
of  this  ode  implies,  that  great  poetical  talents,  and  hi^h  sentiments  of 
liberty,  do  reciprocally  proflucc  and  asust  each  cthc  ■,  so  Pindar  is  per- 
haps the  most  exemplary  proof  of  this  connection,  which  occurs  in 
history.  The  Thebans  were  remarkable,  in  general,  for  a  slavish  dis- 
position through  all  the  fortunes  of  their  common-wealth;  at  the 
time  of  its  ruin  by  Philip;  and  even  in  its  best  state,  unier  the  ad- 
ministration of  Pe.'opidas  and  Fpaminondai :  and  e\eryone  knows, 
tliey  were  no  less  renr^rkable  for  gre.it  dnltjess,  and  want  of  all  gen- 
ius. Tiiat  Pindar  should  have  equally  distinguished  himself  from 
tie  re^t  of  hi-;  fellow  citizens  in  both  these  respect-,  seems  some- 
what extraordinary,  and  is  scarce  to  be  accounted  for  but  by  the  pre- 
cediiig  objervation. 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  ^7 

But  that  thy  song  70 

Was  proud  to  unfold 
What  thy  base  rulers  trembled  to  behold  ; 
Amid  corrupted  Thebes  was  proud  to  tell 
The  deeds  of  Athens  and  the  Persian  shame  : 
Hence  on  thy  head  their  impious  vengeance  fell. 

But  thou,  0  faithful  to  thy  fame> 

The  Muse's  law  didst  rightly  know ; 

That  who  would  animate  his  lays. 

And  other  minds  to  virtue  raise. 
Must  feel  his  own  with  all  her  spirit  glow.  80 

m.    1. 

Are  there,  approved  of  later  times. 
Whose  verse  adorn'd  a  *  tyrant's  crimes  ? 
Who  saw  majestic  Rome  betray'd. 
And  lent  the  imperial  ruffian  aid  ? 
Alas  !  not  one  polluted  Bard, 
No,  not  the  strains  that  Mincius  heard. 

Or  Tibur's  hills  replied. 
Dare  to  the  Muse's  ear  aspire ; 
Save  that,  instructed  by  the  Grecian  lyre. 
With  Freedom's  ancient  notes  their  shameful  task  they 
hide.  90 

HI.     2. 
Mark,  how  the  tlread  Pantheon  stands, 

Amid  the  domes  of  modern  hands  : 

Amid  the  toys  of  idle  state, 

How  simply,  how  severely  great  ! 

Then  turn,  and,  while  each  western  clime 

Present*  her  tuneful  sons  to  Time, 

So  mark  thou  Milton's  name  ; 

•  Octa^ianus  Caesar. 


58  ODE     XVIII. 

And  add,  "  Thus  differs  from  the  throng 
"  The  spirit  which  inform'd  thy  awful  song,  99 

"  Which  bade  thy  potent  voice  protect  *  thy  country's 
"  fame." 

III.     3. 
Yet  hence  barbaric  zeal 
His  memory  with  unholy  rage  pursues  : 

While  from  these  arduous  cares  of  public  weal 

She  bids  each  Bard  begone,  and  rest  him  with  his  Muse. 

O  fool !  to  think  the  man,  whose  ample  mind 

Must  grasp  at  all  that  yonder  stars  survey  ; 

Must  join  the  noblest  Forms  of  every  kind. 

The  world's  most  perfect  image  to  diplay. 

Can  e'er  his  country's  majesty  behold. 

Unmoved  or  cold  !  110 

O  fool !  to  deem 

That  he,  whose  thought  must  visit  every  theme. 

Whose  heart  must  every  strong  emotion  know 

Inspired  by  IV'ature,  or  by  Fortune  taught ; 

That  he,  if  haply  some  presumptuous  foe. 

With  false  ignoble  science  fraught, 

Shall  spurn  at  Freedom's  faithful  band  ; 

That  he  their  dear  defence  will  shun. 

Or  hide  their  glories  from  the  sun,  1 1 9 

Or  deal  their  vengeance  with  a  woman's  hand  ! 

IV.     1. 

1  care  not  that  in  Arno's  plain 

Or  on  the  sportive  banks  of  Seine, 
From  public  themes  the  Muse's  quire, 

Verse  100.]  *  Alluding  to  his  Defence  of  tho  people  of  England 
against  Salmasius.  See  particularly  the  manner  in  which  he  him- 
self speaks  of  that  undertaking;,  in  the  introduction  to  his  reply  to 
Jilorus, 


BOOK  TWE  first.  .     M 

Content  with  polish'd  ease  retire. 

Where  priests  the  studious  head  command. 

Where  tyrants  bow  the  warlike  hand 

To  vile  ambition's  aim. 
Say,  what  can  public  themes  afford. 
Save  venal  honours  to  a  hateful  lord,  129 

Reserved  for  angry  heaven  and  scorn'd  of  honest  fame  ? 

IV.     2. 
But  here,  where  Fkeedom's  equal  throne 
To  all  her  valiant  sons  is  known  ; 
Where,  all  are  conscious  of  her  cares. 
And  each  the  power  that  rules  him,  shares ; 
Here  let  the  Bard,  whose  dastard  tongue 
Leaves  public  arguments  unsung. 

Bid  public  praise  farewel : 
Let  him  to  fitter  climes  remove. 
Far  from  the  hero's  and  the  patriot's  love,  139 

And  lull  mysterious  monks  to  slumber  in  their  cell. 

IV.     3. 

O  Hastings,  not  to  all 
Can  ruling  Heaven  the  same  endowments  lend  : 

Yet  still  doth  Nature  to  her  olispring  call. 

That  to  one   general  weal  their  different  powers  they 

bend, 

Unenvious.     Thus  alone,  though  strains  divine 

Inform  the  bosom  of  the  Muse's  son  ; 

Though  with  new  honours  the  patrician's  line 

Advance  from  age  to  age ;  yet  thus  alone 

They  win  the  suffrage  of  impartial  fame. 

*  The  poet's  name  150 

He  best  shall  prove. 

Whose  lays  the  ouul  with  noblest  passions  move. 


60  ODE    XVIII. 

But  thee,  O  progeny  of  heroes  old. 

Thee  to  severer  toils  thy  fate  requires : 

The  fate  which  form'd  thfee  in  a  chosen  mould 

The  grateful  country  of  thy  sires. 

Thee  to  sublimer  paths  demand  ; 

Subhmer  than  thy  sires  could  trace. 

Or  thy  own  *  Edward  teach  his  race,  1 59 

Though  Gaul's  proud  Genius  sank  beneath  his  hand. 

V.     ]. 
From  rich  domains  and  subject  farms. 

They  led  the  rustic  youth  to  arms ; 

And  kings  their  stern  atchievements  fear'd  ; 

While  private  strife  their  banners  rear'd. 

But  loftier  scenes  to  thee  are  shown. 

Where  empire's  wideestablish'd  throne 

No  private  master  fills  : 

Where,  long  foretold,  the  People  reigns  :  1 63 

Where  each  a  vassal's  humble  heart  disdains  ; 

-  And  judgeth  what  he  sees ;  and,  as  he  judgeth,  wills. 

V.    2. 
Here,  be  it  thine  to  calm  and  guide  ; 

The  swelling  democratic  tide  ; 

To  watch  the  state's  uncertain  frame. 

And  baffle  Faction's  partial  aim  : 

But  chiefly,  with  determin'd  zeal. 

To  quell  that  servile  band,  who  kneel 

To  freedom's  banish'd  foes ; 

That  monster,  which  is  daily  found  178 

Expert  and  bold  thy  country's  peace  to  wound ; 

Yet  dreads  to  handle  arms,  nor  manly  counsel  knows. 

Verse  159.3  *  Edviiard  the  third ;  from  whom  descended  ILmri/ 
Hastings,  third  Earl  of  Huntingdon,  hy  the  daughter  of  the  Duke  of 
Clarence,  brother  to  Ednard  the  Fourth. 


BOOK  THE  FIRSJ.  «1 

V.     3. 
'Tis  highest  Heaven's  command. 

That  guilty  aims  should  sordid  paths  pursue ; 

That  what  ensnares  the  heart  should  maim  the  hand. 

And  virtue's  worthless  foes  be  false  to  glory  too. 

But  look  on  Freedom.     See,  through  every  age. 

What  labours,  perils,  griefs,  hath  she  disdain'd ! 

What  arms,  what  regal  pride,  what  priestly  rage, 

,  Have  her  dread  offspring  conquer'd  or  sustain'd  ! 

For  Albion  well  have  conquer'd.     Let  the  strains 

Of  happy  swains,  190 

Which  now  resound 

Where  *Scarsdale's  cliffs  the  swelling  pastures  bound. 

Bear  witness.     There,  oft  let  the  farmer  hail 

The  sacred  orchard  which  embowers  his  gate. 

And  shew  to  strangers  passing  down  the  vale. 

Where  Candish,  Booth,  and  Osborne  sate ; 

When  bursting  from  their  country's  chain. 

Even  in  the  midst  of  deadly  harms. 

Of  papal  snares  and  lawless  arms. 

They  p'jnn'd  for  Freedom  this  her  noblest  reign.    200 

\T.     1 . 

Tljis  reign,  these  laws,  this  public  care. 

Which  Nassau  gave  us  all  to  share. 
Had  ne'er  adorn'd  the  English  name, 
Could  Fear  have  silenced  iTcedom's  claim. 
But  Fear  in  vain  attempts  to  bind 
Those  lofty  efforts  of  the  mind 

•  V.  191.]  At  irkitlii's'on,  a  village  on  the  cJg<^  ut  Scarsdale  in 
Derbifshire,  the  Earls  of  Devomhlre  an<\  Danbij,  with  the  Lord  Del- 
amerc,  privately  concerted  the  plan  of  the  Revolution.  The  house 
in  which  they  met  is  at  present  a  Farm-bousie,  and  the  countrj'  peo- 
ple tlistinguish  the  room  where  they  sat,  by  the  name  of  the  plotiin^ 
parlour. 

Ff 


62  ODE    XVIII. 

Which  social  good, inspires  ; 
Where  men,  for  this,  assault  a  throne. 
Each  adds  the  common  welfare  to  his  own ;  209 

And  each  unconquer'd  heart  the  strength  of  all  acquires. 

VI.  2. 
Say,  was  it  thus,  when  late  we  view'd 
Our  fields  in  civil  blood  imbrued  ? 
WTien  fortune  crown'd  the  barbarous  host. 
And  half  the  astonish'd  isle  was  lost  ? 
Did  one  of  all  their  vaunting  train. 
Who  dare  affront  a  peaceful  reign. 

Durst  one  in  arms  appear  ? 
Durst  one  in  counsels  pledge  his  life  ? 
Stake  his  luxurious  fortunes  in  the  strife  ?  219 

Or  lend  his  boasted  name  his  vagrant  friends  to  cheer  ? 

VI.   3. 
Ytt,  Hastings,  these  are  they 
Who  challenge  to  themselves  thy  country's  lovej 
The  true ;  the  constant :  who  alone  can  weigh. 
What  glory  should  demand,  or  liberty  approve  ! 
But  let  their  works  declare  them.     Thy  free  powers. 
The  generous  powers  of  thy  prevailing  mind. 
Not  for  the  tasks  of  their  confederate  hours, 
I.ewd  brawls  and  lurking  slander,  were  design'd. 
Be  thou  thy  own  approver.     Honest  praise 

Oft  nobly  sways  230 

Ingenuous  youth  : 
But  sought  from  cowards  and  the  lying  mouth. 
Praise  is  reproach.     Eternal  God  alone 
For  mortals  fixeth  that  sublime  award. 
He,  from  the  faithful  records  of  his  throne. 
Bids  the  Historian  and  the  Bard 


BOOKTHEFIRST.  63 

Dispose  of  honour  and  of  scorn  ;      ' 
Discern  the  patriot  from  the  slave ; 
And  write  the  Good,  the  Wise,  the  Brave, 
For  l«ssons  to  the  multitude  unborn.  240 


THE  END  OF  BOOK  THE  FIRST. 


ODES, 

BOOK   THE   SECOND. 

■  II   iLiiji  DC  iTci  I  ■■! 

O  D  E    I. 

THE  REMONSTRANCE  OF  SHAKESPEARE. 

Supposed  to  have   been  spoken  at   the  Theatre  Royal, 
while  the  French  Comedians  were  acting  by  Subscription. 

MDCCXLIX. 

If,  yet  regardful  of  your  native  land. 

Old  Shakespeare's  tongue  you  deign  to  understand, 

Lo,  from  the  blissful  bowers  where  Heaven  rewards 

Instructive  sages  and  unblemished  bards, 

I  come,  the  ancient  founder  of  the  stage. 

Intent  to  learn,  in  this  discerning  age. 

What  form  of  wit  your  fancies  have  embraced. 

And  whither  tends  your  elegance  of  taste. 

That  thus  at  length  our  homely  toils  you  spurn. 

That  thus  to  foreign  scenes  you  proudly  turn,  10 

That  from  my  brow  the  laurel  wreath  you  claim 

To  crown  the  rivals  of  your  country's  fame. 

What,  though  the  footsteps  of  my  devious  Muse 
The  measured  walks  of  Grecian  art  refuse  ; 
Or  though  the  frankness  of  my  hardy  style 
Mock  the  nice  touches  of  the  critic's  file  ? 
Yet,  what  my  age  and  climate  held  to  view. 
Impartial  I  survey'd,  and  fearless  drew. 


BOOK   THE    SECOND.  65 

And  say,  ye  skilful  in  the  human  heart. 
Who  know  to  prize  a  Poet's  noblest  part,  20 

What  age,  what  clime,  could  e'er  an  ampler  field 
For  lofty  thought,  for  daring  fancy,  yield  ? 
I  saw  this  England  break  the  shameful  bands 
Forged  for  the  souls  of  men  by  sacred  hands  : 
I  saw  each  groaning  realm  her  aid  implore ; 
Her  sons  the  heroes  of  each  warlike  shore ; 
Her  NAVAL  STANDARD  (the  dire  Spaniard's  [)ane) 
Obey'd  through  all  the  circuit  of  the  main. 
Then  too  great  commerce,  for  a  late-found  world. 
Around  your  coast  her  eager  sails  unfurl'd  :  30 

New  hopes,  new  passions,  thence  the  bosom  fired ; 
New  plans,  new  arts,  the  genius  thence  inspired  ; 
Thence,  every  scene  which  private  fortune  knows. 
In  stronger  life,  with  bolder  spirit,  rose. 

Disgraced  I  this  full  prospect  which  I  drew  ? 
My  colours  languid,  or  my  strokes  untrue  ? 
Have  not  your  sages,  warriors,  swains,  and  kings, 
Confess'd  the  living  draught  of  men  and  things  ? 
What  other  Bard  in  any  clime  appears 
Alike  the  master  of  your  smiles  and  tears  ?  40 

Yet  have  I  deigii'd  your  audience  to  entice 
With  wretched  bribes  to  luxury  and  vice  ? 
Or  have  my  various  scenes  a  purpose  known 
Which  Freedom,  Virtue,  Glory,  might  not  own  ? 

Such  from  the  first  was  my  dramatic  plan  ; 

It  should  be  yours  to  crown  what  1  began  : 

And  now  that  England  spurns  her  Gothic  chain. 

And  equal  laws  and  social  science  reign, 

I  thought.  Now  surely  shall  my  zealous  eyes 

View  nobler  Bards  and  juster  Critics  rise,  50 

Ff2 


66  O  D  E    I. 

Intent  with  learned  labour  to  refine 

ITie  copious  ore  of  Albion's  native  Mine, 

Our  stately  Muse  more  graceful  airs  to  teachy 

And  fonn  her  tongue  to  more  attractive  speech,^ 

Till  rival  nations  listen  at  her  feet. 

And  own  her  polish'd  as  they  own'd  her  great. 

But  do  you  thus  my  favourite  hopes  fulfil  ? 
Is  France  at  last  the  standard  of  your  skill  ? 
Alas  for  you  !  that  so  betray  a  mind 
Of  art  unconscious  and  to  beauty  blind.  60 

Say ;  does  her  language  your  ambition  raise. 
Her  barren,  trivial,  unharraonious  phrase. 
Which  fetters  eloquence  to  scantiest  bounds. 
And  maims  the  cadence  of  poetic  sounds  ? 
Say ;  does  your  humble  admiration  chuse 
The  gentle  prattle  of  her  Comic  Muse, 
While  wits,  plain-dealers,  fops,  and  fools  appear. 
Charged  to  say  nought  but  what  the  king  may  hear  ? 
Or  rather  melt  your  sympathizing  hearts 
Won  by  her  tragic  scene's  romantic  arts,  70 

Where  old  and  young  declaim  on  soft  desire. 
And  heroes  never,  but  for  love,  expire  ? 

No.  Though  the  charms  of  novelty,  awhile. 
Perhaps  too  fondly  win  your  thoughtless  smile. 
Yet  not  for  you  design'd  indulgent  fate 
The  modes  or  manners  of  the  Bourbon  state. 
And  ill  your  minds  ray  partial  judgment  reads. 
And  many  an  augury  my  hope  misleads. 
If  the  fair  maids  of  yonder  blooming  train 
To  their  light  courtship  would  an  audience  deign,      80 
Or  those  chaste  matrons,  a  Parisian  luife 
Chuse  for  the  model  of  domestic  life ; 


BOOK   THE  SECOND.  67 

Or  if  one  youth  of  all  that  generous  band, 
llie  strength  and  splendor  of  their  native  land. 
Would  yield  his  portion  of  his  country's  fame. 
And  quit  old  Fheedom's  patrimonial  claim. 
With  lying  smiles  oppression's  pomp  to  see. 
And  judge  of  glory  by  a  king's  decree. 

O  blest  at  home  with  justly-envied  laws, 
O  long  the  chiefs  of  Europe's  general  cause,  90 

Whom  Heaven  hath  chosen  at  each  dangerous  hour 
To  check  the  inroads  of  barbaric  power. 
The  rights  of  trampled  nations  to  reclaim. 
And  guard  the  social  world  from  bonds  and  shame ; 
Oh  let  not  luxury's  fantastic  charms 
Thus  give  the  lie  to  your  heroic  arms  : 
Nor  for  the  ornaments  of  life,  embrace 
Dishonest  lessons  from  that  vaunting  race. 
Whom  fate's  dread  laws  (for,  in  eternal  fate 
Despotic  rule  uas  heir  to  freedom's  hate)  10(J 

Whom  in  each  warlike,  each  commercial  part. 
In  civil  counsel,  and  in  pleasing  art. 
The  judge  of  earth  predestined  for  your  foes. 
And  made  it  fame  and  virtue  to  oppose.  104- 

ODE    II. 

TO     S  L  E  E  P. 

I. 

X  HOU  SILENT  powEK,  whose  welcome  sway 
Charms  every  anxious  thought  away  j 
In  whose  divine  oblivion  drown'd 
Sore  pain  and  weary  toil  grow  mild, 


(i8  ODE    11. 

Love  is  with  kinder  looks  beguiled, 
And  grief  forgets  her  fondly-cherish'd  wound; 
Oh  whither  hast  thou  flown,  indulgent  god  ? 
God  of  kind  shadows  and  of  healing  dews. 
Whom  dost  thou  touch  with  thy  Lethaean  rod  i 
Around  whose  temples  now  thy  opiate  airs  diffuse  ?    10 

II. 

Lo,  midnight  from  her  starry  reign 

Looks  awful  down  on  earth  and  main. 

The  tuneful  birds  lie  hush'd  in  sleep. 

With  all  that  crop  the  verdant  food. 

With  all  that  skim  the  crystal  flood. 
Or  haunt  the  caverns  of  the  rocky  steep. 
No  rushing  winds  disturb  the  tufted  bowers ; 
No  wakeful  sound  the  moon-light  valley  knows. 
Save  where  the  brook  its  liquid  murmur  pours,       1 9 
And  lulls  the  waving  scene  lo  more  profound  repose. 

III. 
Oh  let  not  me  alone  complain, 

Alone  invoke  thy  power  in  vain  ! 

Descend,  propitious,  on  my  eyes ; 

Not  from  the  couch  that  bears  a  crown. 

Not  from  the  courtly  statesman's  down. 
Nor  where  the  miser  and  his  treasure  lies  : 
Bring  not  the  shapes  that  break  the  murderer's  rest. 
Nor  those  the  hireling  soldier  loves  lo  see,  2S 

Nor  those  which  haunt  the  bigot's  gloomy  breast : 
Far  be  their  guilty  nights,  and  far  their  dreams  from  me ! 

IV. 

Nor  yet  those  awful  forms  present. 

For  chiefs  and  heroes  only  meant : 
The  figured  brass,  the  choral  song,. 


BOOK  THE  SECOND.  69 

The  rescued  people's  glad  applause. 

The  listening  senate,  and  the  laws 
Fix'd  by  the  counsels  of  *  Timoleon's  tongue. 
Are  scenes  too  grand  for  fortune's  private  ways  ; 
And  though  they  shine  in  youth's  ingenuous  view, 
The  sober  gainful  arts  of  modern  days 
To  such  romantic  thoughts  have  bid  a  long  adieu .     40 

V. 

I  ask  not,  God  of  dreams,  thy  care 

To  banish  Love's  presentments  fair  : 

Nor  rosy  cheek  nor  radiant  eye 

Can  arm  him  with  such  strong  command 

That  the  young  sorcerer's  fatal  hand 
Should  round  my  soul  his  pleasing  fetters  tie. 
Nor  yet  the  courtiers  hope,  the  giving  smile 
(A  lighter  phantom,  and  a  baser  chain) 
Did  e'er  in  slum!)er  my  proud  lyre  l)eguile  49 

To  lend  the  pomp  of  thronps  her  ill-according  strain. 

VI. 

But  Morpheus,  on  thy  balmy  wing. 

Such  honourable  visions  bring. 

As  sooth'd  great  Milton's  injured  age. 

When  in  prophetic  dreams  he  saw 

The  race  unborn  with  pious  awe 
Imbibe  each  virtue  from  his  heavenly  page  : 
Or  such  as  Mead's  benignant  fancy  knows 
When  health's  deep  treasures,  by  his  art  explored. 
Have  saved  the  infant  from  an  orphan's  woes. 
Or  to  the  trembling  sire  his  age's  hope  restored.         (JO 

•  After  Timolcon  bad  delivered  Syracuse  from  the  tyranny  of  Dio- 
nyjiius,  the  people  on  every  iinpf)rtant  delilwration  sent  for  him  into 
the  public  a^icoibly,  asked  his  advice,  and  voted  according  to  i^ 

PlLTARCa. 


7'0 


ODE    III. 

TO    THE    CUCKOW. 


K}  rustic  herald  of  the  spring. 
At  length  in  yonder  woody  vale 
Fast  by  the  brook  I  hear  thee  sing ; 
And  studious  of  thy  homely  tale. 
Amid  the  vespers  of  the  grove. 
Amid  the  chaunting  choir  of  love. 

Thy  sage  responses  hail.  7 

II. 

The  time  has  been  when  I  have  frown'd 

To  hear  thy  voice  the  woods  invade ; 
And  while  thy  solemn  accent  drown'd 
Some  sweeter  poet  of  the  shade^ 
Thus,  thought  I,  thus  the  sons  of  care 
Some  constant  youth  or  generous  fair 

With  dull  advice  upbraid.  It 

III. 
I  said.  ".  While  Philomela's  song 

"  Proclaims  the  passion  of  the  grove, 

"  It  ill  beseems  a  Cuckow's  tongue 

"  Her  charming  language  to  reprove"— 

Alas,  how  much  a  lover's  ear 

Hates  all  the  sober  truth  to  hear. 

The  sober  truth  of  love  !  21 

IV. 

When  hearts  are  in  each  other  bless'd, 

When  nought  but  lofty  faith  can  rule 


BOOK  THE  SECOND.  71 

The  nymph's  and  swain's  consenting  breast. 
How  CucKow-LiKE  in  Cupid's  school. 
With  store  of  grave  prudential  saws. 
On  fortune's  power  and  custom's  laws. 

Appears  each  friendly  fool !  28 

V. 

Yet  think  betimes,  ye  gentle  train 

Whom  love,  and  hope,  and  fancy,  sway. 
Who  every  harsher  care  disdain. 
Who  by  the  morning  judge  the  day  j 
Think,  that  in  April's  fairest  hours, 
-    To  warbling  shades  and  painted  flowers 

The  Ct'CKOw  joins  his  lay.  5:5 

ODE    IV. 

TO      THE 

HONOURABLE  CHARLES  TOWNSHEND 

IN  THE  COUNTRY. 

M  D  C  C  L. 

L    1. 

How  oft  shall  I  survey 
Tliis  humble  roof,  the  lawn,  the  greenwood  shade, 

Tlie  vale  with  sheaves  o'erspread, 
TTie  glassy  brook,  tlie  flocks  which  round  thee  stray  ? 

When  will  thy  cheerful  mind 
Of  these  have  utter'd  all  her  dear  esteem  ? 

Or,  tell  me,  dost  thou  deem 


72  ODE    IV. 

No  more  to  join  in  glory's  toilsome  racj, 

But  here  content  embrac-e 
That  happy  leisure  which  thou  had'st  rcsign'd  ?  10 

I.  2. 
Alas,  ye  happy  hours, 

Wlien  books  and  youthful  sport  the  soul  could  share, 

Ere  one  ambitious  care 
Of  civil  life  had  awed  her  simpler  powers; 

Oft  as  your  winged  train 
Revisit  here  my  friend  in  white  array. 

Oh  fail  not  to  display 
Each  fairer  scene  where  I  perchance  had  part. 

That  so  his  generous  heart 
The  abode  of  even  friendship  may  remain.  20 

I.  3. 

For  not  imprudent  of  my  loss  to  come, 

I  saw  from  contemplation's  quiet  cell 
His  feet  ascending  to  another  home 
Where  public  praise  and  envied  greatness  dwell. 
But  shall  we  therefore,  O  my  lyre. 
Reprove  ambition's  best  desire  ? 
Extinguish  glory's  flame  ? 
Far  other  was  the  task  enjoin'd  28 

When  to  my  hand  thy  strings  were  first  assign'd  : 
Far  other  faith  belongs  to  friendship's  honour'd  name. 

II.  I. 
Thee  Townshend,  not  the  arras 

Of  slumbering  ease,  nor  pleasure's  rosy  chain. 

Were  destined  to  detain  : 
No,  nor  bright  science,  nor  the  Muse's  charms. 

For  them  high  Heaven  prepares 
Their  proper  votaries,  an  humbler  Band ; 


BOOK  THE  SECOND.  73 

And  ne'er  would  Spenser's  hand 
Have  deign'd  to  strike  the  warbling  Tuscan  shell. 

Nor  Harrington  to  tell 
What  hebit  an  immortal  city  wears,  40 

II.  2. 
Had  THIS,  been  born  to  shield 

The  cause  which  Cromwell's  impious  hand  betray'd> 

Or  THAT,  like  Verb,  display'd 
His  red -cross  banner  o'er  the  Belgian  field. 

Yet  where  the  will  divine 
Hath  shut  those  loftiest  paths,  it  next  remains, 

With  Reason,  clad  in  strains 
Of  Harmony,  selected  minds  to  inspire. 

And  Virtue's  living  fire 
To  feed  and  eternize  in  hearts  like  thine.  JO 

II.  3. 
For  never  shall  the  herd,  whom  envy  sways. 

So  quell  my  purpose,  or  my  tongue  control. 

That  I  should  fear  illustrious  Worth  to  praise. 

Because  its  master's  friendship  moved  my  soul. 

Yet,  if  this  undissembling  strain 

Should  now  perhaps  thine  ear  detain 

With  any  pleasing  sound. 

Remember  thou  that  righteous  Fame 

From  hoary  Age  a  strict  account  will  claim        50 

Of  each  auspicious  palm  with  which  thy  Youth  was 

crown'd. 

m.  1. 

Nor  obvious  is  the  way 
Where  Heaven  expects  thee,  nor  the  traveller  leads. 

Through  flowers  on  fragrant  meads. 
Or  groves  that  hark  to  Philomela's  lay. 


74.  ODE    IV.  ^ 

The  impartial  laws  of  fate 
To  ivohler  virtues  wed  severer  cares. 

Is  there  a  man  who  shares 
The  summit  next  where  heavenly  natures  dwell  ? 

Ask  him  (for  he  can  tell)  69 

What  storms  beat  round  that  rough  laborious  height. 

III.     2. 
Ye  heroes,  who  of  old 

Did  generous  England  freedom's  throne  ordain  j 

From  Alfred's  parent  reign 
To  Nassau,  great  deliverer,  wise  and  boldj 

I  know  your  perils  hard. 
Your  wounds  your  painful  marches,  wintry  seas. 

The  night  estranged  from  ease. 
The  day  by  cowardice  and  falsehood  vex'd. 

The  head  with  doubt  perplex'd,  79 

The  indignant  heart  disdaining  the  reward, 

III.  3. 
Which  envy  hardly  grants.     But,  O  kenown, 

O  praise  from  judging  Heaven  and  virtuous  men, 

]f  thus  they  purchased  thy  divinest  crown, 

Say,  who  shall  hesitate  ?  or  who  complain  ? 

And  now  they  sit  on  thrones  above  : 

And  when  among  the  gods  they  move 

Before  the  Sovran  mind 

"  Lo  these,"  he  saith,  *'  lo,  these  are  tnty 

"■  Who  to  the  laws  of  mine  eternal  sway  8i> 

"  From  violence  and  fear  asserted  human  kind." 

IV.  1. 
Thus  honour'd,  while  the  train 

Of  LEGisLATous  in  his  presence  dwell ; 

If  I  may  aught  foretel. 


B00KTHE3EC0ND.  75 

The  STATESMAN  shall  the  second  palm  obtain. 

For  dreadful  deeds  of  arms 
Let  vulgar  Bards,  with  undiscerning  praise. 

More  glittering  trophies  raise: 
But  wisest  Heaven  what  deeds  may  chiefly  move 

To  favour  and  to  love  ?  99 

.What,  save  wide  blessings,  or  averted  harms  ? 

IV.     2. 

Nor  to  the  embatiled  field 

Shall  these  atchievments  of  the  peaceful  gotvn 

The  green  immortal  crown 
Of  Valour,  or  the  songs  of  Conquest,  yield. 

Not  Fairfax  wildly  bold. 
While  bare  of  crest  he  hew'd  his  fatal  way, 

Through  Nasesby's  firm  array. 
To  heavier  dangers  did  his  breast  oppose. 

Than  Pym's  free  virtue  chose. 
When  the  proud  force  of  Strafford  he  control'd.     10) 

IV.  3. 
But  what  is  man,  at  enmity  with  truth  ? 

What  were  the  fruits  of  Wextwouth's  copious  mind 

When  (blighted  all  the  promise  of  his  youth) 

The  patriot  in  a  tyrant's  league  had  join'd  ? 

l^t  Ireland's  loud-lamenting  plains, 

Let  Tyne's  and  Humber's  trampled  swains. 

Let  menaced  London  tell, 

I  low  impious  Guile  made  Wisdom  base; 

How  generous  Zeal  to  cruel  Rage  gave  place ;  119 

And  how  unbless'd  he  lived,  and  how  dishonour'd  fell. 

V.   1. 
Thence  never  hath  the  Muse 

Around  his  tomb  Pierian  roses  flung; 


76  O  D  E    IV. 

Nor  shall  one  poet's  tongue 
His  name  for  music's  pleasing  labour  chuse. 

And  sure,  when  Nature  kind 
Hath  deck'd  some  favour'd  breast  above  the  throng. 

That  man  with  grievous  wrong 
AiFronts  and  wounds  his  genius,  if  he  bends 

To  guilt's  ignoble  ends  12St 

The  functions  of  his  ill -submitting  mind. 

V.    2. 
For  worthy  of  the  wise 

Nothing  can  seem  but  virtue ;  nor  earth  yield 

Their  fame  an  equal  field. 
Save  where,  impartial,  freedom  gives  the  prize. 

There  Someus  fix'd  his  name, 
InroH'd  the  next  to  William.     There  shall  Time 

To  every  wondering  clime 
Point  out  that  Somers,  who  from  Faction's  crowd. 

The  slanderous  and  the  loud,  139 

Could  fair  assent  and  modest  reverence  claim. 

V.  3. 

Nor  aught  did  laws  or  social  arts  acquire. 

Nor  this  majestic  weal  of  Albion's  land 
Did  aught  accomplish,  or  to  aught  aspire. 
Without  HIS  guidance,  his  superior  hand« 
And  rightly  shall  the  Muse's  care 
Wreaths  like  her  own  for  him  prepare. 

Whose  mind's  inamour'd  aim 
Could  Forms  of  civil  beauty  draw. 
Sublime  as  ever  sage  or  poet  saw,  i+f) 

Yet  still  to  life's  rude  scene  the  proud  ideas  tame. 

VI.   I. 
Let  none  prophane  be  near ! 
The  Muse  was  never  foreign  to  his  breast : 


BOOK   THE  SECOND.  77 

On  power's  grave  seat  confess'd. 
Still  to  her  voice  he  bent  a  lover's  ear. 

And  if  the  blessed  know 
Their  antient  cares,  even  now  the  unfading  groves. 

Where  haply  Milton  roves 
With  Spenser,  hear  the  inchanted  echoes  round 

Through  farthest  heaven  resound 
Wise  SOMERS,  guardian  of  their  fame  belovr.         1 60 

VI.    2. 
Hb  knew,  the  patriot  knew, 

ITiat  LETTERS  and  the  Muse's  powerful  art 

Exalt  the  ingenuous  heart. 
And  brighten  every  form  of  Just  and  True. 

They  lend  a  nobler  sway 
To  civil  wisdom,  than  corruption's  lure 

Could  ever  yet  procure  : 
They  too  from  envy's  pale  malignant  light 

Conduct  her  forth  to  sight 
Cloth'd  in  the  fairest  colours  of  the  day.  170 

VI.     3. 
O  Townshend  !  thus  may  Time,  the  judge  severe. 
Instruct  my  happy  tongue  of  thee  to  tell : 
And  when  I  speak  of  one  to  fiieedom  dear. 
For  planning  wisely  and  for  acting  well. 
Of  one  whom  gloky  loves  to  own. 
Who  still  by  liberal  means  alone 
Hath  liberal  ends  pursued  ; 
Then,  for  the  guerdon  of  my  lay,  178 

"This  rnan  with  faithful  friendship,"  will  I  say, 
"  From  youth  to  honour'd  age  my  arts  and  mc  hath 
"view'd." 

Gg2       ' 


78 


O  D  E    V. 

ON    LOVE    OF    PRAISE. 

I. 

\JF  all  the  springs  within  the  mind 
Which  prompt  her  steps  in  fortune's  maze. 

From  none  more  pleasing  aid  we  find 
Than  from  the  genuine  love  of  Pkaise.  4 

ir. 

Nor  any  partial,  private  end 

Such  reverence  to  the  public  bears ; 
Nor  any  passion,  virtue's  friend. 

So  like  to  virtue's  self  appeal's.  3 

III. 

For  who  in  glory  can  delight 

Without  delight  in  glorious  deeds  ? 
What  man  a  charming  voice  can  slight. 

Who  courts  the  echo  that  succeeds  ?  12 

IV. 
But  not  the  echo  on  the  voice 

More,  than  on  Virtue,  praise  depends ; 

To  which  of  course,  its  real  price 

The  judgement  of  the  praiser  lends.  1  €> 

V. 

If  PRAISE  then,  with  religious  awe. 

From  the  sole  perfect  judge  be  sought, 

A  nobler  aim,  a  purer  law 

Nor  Priest,  nor  Bard,  nor  Sage  hath  taught.    20 

VI. 

With  which  in  character  the  same, 


BOOK   THE   SECOND.  79 

Tlio*  in  an  humbler  sphere  it  lies, 
I  count  that  soul  of  human  Fame, 
The  suffrage  of  the  good  and  wise.  2* 

ODE    VL 

TO   WILLIAM   HALL,   ESQUIRE: 

WITH  THE  WORKS  OF  CHAULIEU- 

I. 

Attend  to  Chauueu's  wanton  lyre  j 
While,  fluent  as  the  sky-lark  sings 
When  first  the  morn  allures  its  wings. 
The  EPICURE  his  theme  pursues  : 
And  tell  me  if,  among  the  choir 
Whose  music  charms  the  banks  of  Seine, 
So  full,  so  free,  so  rich  a  strain 

E'er  dictated  the  warbling  Muse.  3 

II. 
Yet  Hall,  while  thy  judicious  ear 

Admires  the  well-dissembled  art 

That  can  such  harmony  impart 

To  the  lame  pace  of  Gallic  rhymes  ; 

While  wit  from  atfectation  clear. 

Bright  images,  and  passions  true. 

Recall  to  thy  assenting  view 

The  envied  bards  of  nobler  times  j  1 6 

III. 
Say,  is  not  oft  his  doctrine  wrong  ? 

This  priest  of  Pleasure,  who  aspires 

To  lead  us  to  her  sacred  fires, 

•  W.  Hall  was  the  author  of  some  witty,  but  licentious  iX)Cin=; 
which  makes  thig  ode  appropriate.    E. 


80  O  D  E    VI. 

Knows  he  the  ritual  of  her  shrine; 

Say,  (her  sweet  influence  to  thy  song 

So  may  the  goddess  still  afford) 

Doth  she  consent  to  be  adored 

With  shameless  lovs  dSidi  frantic  wine^  2  If 

IV. 

Nor  Cato,  nor  Chrysip{)U8  here 

Need  we  in  high  indignant  phrase 

From  their  Elysian  quiet  raise  j 

But  Pleasure's  oracle  alone 

Consult  J  attentive,  not  severe. 

O  Pleasure  I  we  blaspheme  not  thee  ; 

Nor  emulate  the  rigid  knee 

Which  bends  but  at  the  Stoic  throne.  52 

V. 

We  own  had  Fate  to  man  assign'd 

Nor  sense,  nor  wish  but  what  obey 

Or  Venus  soft  or  Bacchus  gay. 

Then  might  our  bakd's  voluptuous  creed 

Most  aptly  govern  human-kind  : 

Unless  perchance  what  he  hath  sung 

Of  tortured  joints  and  nerves  unstrung. 

Some  nr angling  heretic  should  plead.  40 

VI. 

But  now  with  all  these  proud  desires 

For  dauntless  Truth  and  honest  Famey 

With  that  strong  master  of  our  frame, 

TTie  inexorable  judge  xvithin, 

What  can  be  done  .■'     Alas,  ye  fires 

Of  love;  alas,  ye  rosy  smiles. 

Ye  nectar'd  cups  from  happier  soils, 

—Ye  have  no  bribe  his  grace  to  win.  48 


BOOK   THE   SECOND.  %l 

ODE    VII. 

TO  THE  RIGHT  REVEREND 

BENJAMIN    LORD    BISHOP   OF 
WINCHESTER. 

MDCCLIV. 

I.     1. 

Jr  OR  toils  which  patriots  have  endured. 
For  treason  quell'd  and  laws  secured, 
In  every  nation  Time  displays 
The  palm  of  honourable  praise. 
Envy  may  rail ;  and  Faction  fierce 
May  strive  :  but  what,  alas,  can  those 
(The'  bold,  yet  blind  and  sordid  foes) 
To  Gratitude  and  Love  oppose. 
To  faithful  story,  and  persuasive  verse  ?  9* 

I.  2. 
O  nurse  of  freedom,  Albion,  say, 

ITjou  tamer  of  despotic  sway. 

What  man,  among  thy  sons  around. 

Thus  heir  to  glory  hast  thou  found  ? 

What  page,  in  all  thy  annals  bright. 

Hast  thou  with  purer  joy  suney'd 

Thati  that  where  truth,  by  HOADLEY'S  aid. 

Shines  through  imposture's  solemn  shade. 

Through  kingly  and  through  sacerdotal  night  r       18- 

I.    3. 
To  him  the  Teacher  bless 'd. 

Who  sent  religion,  from  the  palmy  field 


82  ODE  vrr. 

By  Jordan  like  the  mo^n  to  cheer  the  wesf. 

And  lifted  up  the  veil  which  heaven  from  earth  con- 
ceal'd. 
To  HoADLT  thus  his  mandate  he  addressed  : 
"  Go  thou^  and  rescue  my  dishonour'd  law 
"  From  hands  rapacious  and  from  tongues  impure  : 
"  Let  not  my  peaceful  name  be  made  a  lure 
"  Fell  persecution's  mortal  snares  to  aid  : 
"  Let  not  my  words  be  impious  chains  to  draw 
"  The  freeborn  soul  in  more  than  brutal  awe,      29 
"  To  FAITH  without  assent,  allegiance  unrepaid." 

n.  I. 
No  cold  or  unperforming  hand 

Was  arm'd  by  Heaven  with  this  command. 

The  world  soon  fell  it ;  and,  on  high. 

To  William's  ear  with  welcome  joy 

Did  *  Locke  among  the  blest  unfold 

The  rising  hope  of  Hoadley's  name. 

GoDOLPHiN  then  confirm'd  the  same  ; 

And  Somers,  when  from  earth  he  came,  3§ 

And  generous  Stanhope  the  fair  sequel  told. 

II.  2. 
Then  drew  the  lawgivers  around, 

(Sires  of  the  Grecian  name  renown'd) 

And  listening  ask'd,  and  wondering  knew 

What  private  force  could  thus  subdue 

The  vulgar  and  the  great  combined ; 

*  V.  55.3  Mr.  Loche  A'iqA  in  1704,  when  Mr.  IloatU;/  was  be- 
j^inning  to  distinguish  himself  in  the  cause  of  civil  and  religious  lib- 
erty: Lord  Godolpkin  ill  1712,  when  the  doctrines  of  the  Jacobite 
faction  ■s\ere  chiefly  favoured  by  those  in  power :  Lord  Somers  in 
1716,  amid  the  practices  of  the  nonjurinj  clergy  against  the  pro- 
testant  establishment ;  and  Lord  Stan/wpe  in  1721,  during  the  con- 
troversy with  the  lower  house  of  convocation. 


BOOK  THE  SECOND.  89, 

Oould  war  with  sacred  folly  wage ; 
Could  a  whole  nation  disengage 
From  the  dread  bonds  of  many  an  age. 
And  lo  new  habits  mould  the  public  mind.        48 

II.  3. 

For  not  a  conqueror's  sword. 

Nor  the  strong  powers  to  civil  founders  known, 
•  Were  his  :  but  Truth  by  faithful  search  explored 
And  social  sense,  like  seed,  in  genial  plenty  sown. 
Wherever  it  took  root,  the  soul  (restored 
To  freedom)  freedom  too  for  others  sought. 
Not  monkish  craft  the  tyrant's  claim  divine. 
Not  regal  zeal  the  bigot's  cruel  shrine 
Could  longer  guard  from  reason's  warfare  sage; 
Not  the  tuild  rabhk  to  sedition  wrought. 
Nor  Synods  by  the  papal  Genius  taught, 
>s'or  St.  John's  spirit  loose,  nor  Atterbury's  rage.      60 

III.  I . 

But  where  shall  recompenc6  be  found  ? 
Or  how  such  arduous  merit  crown'd  ? 
For  look  on  life's  laborious  scene  : 
What  nigged  spaces  lie  between 
Adventurous  virtue's  early  toils 
And  her  triumphal  throne  !     The  shade 
Of  death,  mean  time,  does  oft  invade 
Iler  progress ;  nor,  to  us  display'd. 
Wears  the  bright  Heuoine  her  expected  spoils.  G9 

III.  2. 
Yet  bom  to  conquer  is  her  power  : 

— .0  HoADLY,  if  that  favourite  hour 

On  earth  arrive,  with  thankful  awe 

We  own  just  Heaven's  indulgent  law. 


«4  ODE  VMl. 

And  proBdly  thy  success  behold  ; 
We  attend  thy  reverend  length  of  days 
With  benediction  and  with  praise. 
And  hail  thee  in  our  public  ways 
Like  some  great  spirit  famed  in  ages  old.  78 

III.     3. 
While  thus  our  vows  prolong 

Thy  steps  on  earth,  and  when  by  us  resign 'd  8 1 

Thou  join'st  thy  seniors,  that  heroic  throng 

Who  rescued  or  preserved  the  rights  of  human -kind, 
O  !  not  unworthy  may  thy  Albion's  tongue 
ITiee  still,  her  friend  and  benefactor,  name  : 
O  !  never,  Hoadly,  in  thy  country's  eyes. 
May  impious  gold,  or  pleasure's  gaudy  prize. 
Make  public  virtue,  public  Jreedom,  vile ; 
Nor  our  own  manners  tempt  us  to  disclaim 
That  HERITAGE,  our  noblest  wealth  and  fame. 

Which  THOU  hast  kept  entire  from  Force  and  Faction's 
guile.  90 


ODE    VIII. 


>  I. 

If  rightly  tuneful  Bards  decide. 
If  it  be  fix'd  in  Love's  decrees. 

That  Beauty  ought  not  to  be  tried 
But  by  its  native  power  to  please. 

Then  tell  me,  youths  and  lovers,  tell. 

What  fair  can  Amoret  excel  ? 


BOOK  THE  SECOND.  85 

II. 

Behold  that  bright  unsuHied  smile. 

And  wisdom  speaking  in  her  mien  : 
Yet  (she  so  artless  all  the  whik. 

So  little  studious  to  be  seen) 
We  nought  but  instant  gladness  know, 
Nor  think  to  whom  the  gift  we  owe.  1 2 

III. 
But  neither  music,  nor  the  powers 

Oi youth  and  mirth  and  frolic  cheer, 
Add  half  that  sunshine  to  the  hours. 

Or  make  life's  prospect  half  so  clear, 
As  memory  brings  it  to  the  eye 
IVom  scenes  where  Amoret  was  by.  I S 

IV. 
Yet  not  a  Satirist  could  there 

Or  fault  or  indiscretion  find  ; 
Nor  any  prouder  Sage  declare 

One  virtue,  pictured  in  his  mind. 
Whose  Form  with  lovelier  colours  glows 
Than  Amoret's  demeanor  shows.  2  }• 

V. 

This  sure  is  Beauty's  happiest  part  : 

This  gives  the  most  unbounded  sway  : 
7'///*  shall  inchant  the  subject  heart 

W'iicn  rose  and  lily  fade  away; 
And  she  be  still,  in  spite  of  time, 
iSweet  Amop.et  in  all  her  prime.  CO 


!Ih 


8(5 


ODE     IX. 

AT    STUDY. 

I. 

Whither  aid  my  fancy  stray  ? 
By  what  magic  drawn  away 

Have  I  left  my  studious  theme  ? 
From  the  philo?oi>hic  i>age, 
From  the  ))roblcniH  of  the  sage. 

Wandering  tln-o'  a  pleasing  dream  ?  « 

IT. 

*Tis  in  vain,  alas  !  I  find. 
Much  in  vain,  my  zealous  mind 

Would  to  learned  W^isdom's  throne 
Dedicate  each  thoughtful  hour  : 
Nature  bids  a  softer  power 

Claim  some  inimitcs  for  hi-s  own.  ii' 

HI. 

Let  the  bii^y  or  the  wise 

View  him  with  contemptuous  eyes  j 

Lovr.  is  native  to  the  heart : 
Guide  its  wishes  as  you  will ; 
Without  [,ovi:  you'll  hud  it  still 

Void  in  one  essential  part.  IS 

IV. 

Me,  though  no  peculiar  fair 
Touches  with  a  lover's  cart ; 

'I'hough  the  pride  of  my  desire 
Asks  immortal  friendship's  name, 
Afcks  ihc  palm  of  honest  fame, 

And  the  old  heroic  lyre ;  24 


BOOK  THE    SECOND,  87 

V. 
Though  the  day  have  smoothly  gone. 

Or  to  letter' d  leisure  known. 

Or  in  social  duty  spent ; 
Yet  at  eve  my  lonely  breast 
Seeks  in  vain  for  perfect  rest ; 

Languishes  fur  true  content.  30 


O  D  E    X. 

T  O 
THOMAS   EDWARDS,   ESQUIRE: 

ON     THE     LATE     EDITION     OF 

MR.    POPE'S   WORKS. 
MDCCLI. 
I. 

IjELIEVE  me,  Edwards,  to  restrain 
The  licence  of  a  railer's  tongue 
Is  what  but  seldom  men  obtain 
By  sense  or  wit,  by  prose  or  song  : 
A  task  for  more  Herculean  powers, 
Nor  suited  to  the  sacred  hours 
Of  leisure  in  the  Muse's  bowers. 

H. 
In  bowers  where  laurel  weds  with  palm, 

The  Muse,  the  blameless  queen,  resides  : 

Fair  Fame  attends,  and  Wisdom  calm 

Her  eloquence  harmonious  guides  : 

While,  shut  for  ever  from  her  gate. 


88  OBEX. 

Oft  trying,  still  repining,  wait 

Fierce  Envy  and  calumnious  Hate.  14 

III. 
Who  then  from  her  delightful  bounds 

Would  step  one  moment  forth  to  heed 

What  impotent  and  savage  sounds 

From  their  unhappy  mouths  proceed  ? 

No  :  rather  Spenxer's  lyre  again 

Prepare,  and  let  thy  "pious  strain 

For  Pope's  dishonoured  shade  complain.  2 1 

IV. 

Tell  how  displeased  was  every  Bard, 

When  lately  in  the  Elysian  grove 

They  of  his  Muse's  guardian  heard> 

His  delegate  to  fame  above; 

And  what  with  one  accord  they  said 

Of  wit  in  drooping  age  misled. 

And  Warburton's  officious  aid  :  *  28^ 

V. 

How  Virgil  mourn'd  the  sordid  fate 

To  that  melodious  lyre  assigned 
Beneath  a  tutor  who  so  late 
With  Midas  and  his  rout  combined 
By  spiteful  clamor  to  confound 


*  v.  2S.  During  Mr.  Pope's  war  with  TheohaTd,  Coneanen,  ami 
the  rest  of  their  tribe,  Mr.  [i'arburtnn,  the  present  Lord  Bishop  ui 
GlouceUer,A'n\  with  great  zeal  cultivate  their  friendship;  havin;,- 
been  introduced,  forsooth,  at  the  meetings  of  that  respectable  con- 
federacy :  a  favour  ■which  he  afterwards  spoke  of  in  very  high  terms 
of  complacency  and  thankfulness.  At  the  same  time  in  liis  inter- 
co'irse  with  them  he  treated  Mr.  Pope  in  a  most  contemptuous  man- 
ner, and  as  a  writer  witho\it  p;enius.  Of  the  truth  of  these  assertions 
his  Lordship  can  have  fjO  doubt,  if  he  recollect  bis  own  correspond- 
ence with  Coneanen  ;  a  part  of  which  is  still  in  beinir,  and  will  ptii. 
bably  be  remembered  an  long  as  any  of  this  prelate's  writings. 


BOOK   THE  SECOND  89 

That  very  lyre's  enchanting  sound. 

Though  listening  realms  admired  around  :  35 

VI. 
How  Horace  own'd  he  thought  the  fire 

Of  his  friend  Pope's  satiric  line 

Did  farther  fuel  scarce  require 

From  such  a  militant  divine  : 

How  Milton  scorn'd  the  sophist  vain 

Wlio  durst  approach  his  hallowM  strain 

With  unwash'd  hands  and  lips  profane.  42 

VII. 
Then  Siiakespeahe  debonnair  and  mild 

Erought  that  strange  comment  forth  to  view  j 

Conceits  more  deep,  he  said  and  smiled. 

Than  his  own  fools  or  madmen  knew ; 

Rut  thank'd  a.  generous  friend  above. 

Who  did  with  free  adventurous  love 

Such  pageants  from  his  tomb  remove.  49 

VIII. 
And  if  to  Pope,  in  equal  need. 
The  same  kind  office  thou  would'st  pay. 
Then  Edwahds,  all  the  P>and  decreed 
That  future  Bards  with  frequent  lay 
Should  call  on  thy  auspicious  name. 
From  each  absurd  intruder's  claim 
T«)  keep  inviolate  their  Fame.  jQ 


II  h  2 


90 


ODE    XL 

TO   THE 

COUNTRY    GENTLEMEN 

OF    ENGLAND. 

MDCCLVIIL 

I. 

W  HITHER  is  Europe's  ancient  spirit  fled  ? 
Where  are  those  valiant  tenants  of  her  shore. 
Who  from  the  warrior  bow  the  strong  dart  sped;, 
Or  with  firm  hand  the  rapid  pole-ax  bore  ? 
Freeman  and  Soldier  was  their  common  name ; 
Who  late  with  reapers  to  the  furi'ow  came. 
Now  in  the  front  of  battle  charged  the  foe  : 
Who  taught  the  steer  the  wintry  plough  to  indure. 
Now  in  full  councils  checked  incroaching  power,       0 
And  gave  the  guardian  laws  their  majesty  to  know. 

n. 

But  who  are  ye  ?  from  Ebro's  loitering  sons 
To  Tiber's  pageants*  to  the  sports  of  Seine  ; 
From  Rhine's  frail  palaces  to  Danube's  thrones 
And  cities  looking  on  the  Cimbric  main. 
Ye  lost,  ye  self-deserted  ?  whose  proud  lords 
Have  baffled  your  tame  hands,  and  given  your  swords 
To  slavish  ruffians,  hired  for  their  command  : 
These  at  some  greedy  monk's  or  harlot's  nod. 
See  rifled  nations  crouch  beneath  their  rod  :  ID 

These  are  the  public  will,  the  reason  of  the  land. 


BOOK  THE   SECOND.  9i 

III. 
Thou,  heedless  Albion,  what,  alas,  the  while 

Dost  thou  presume  i  O  inexpert  in  arms. 

Yet  vain  of  fre.dom,  how  dost  thou  beguile. 

With  dreams  of  hope,  these  near  and  loud  alarms  ? 

Thy  splendid  home,  thy  plan  of  laws  renown'd. 

The  praise  and  envy  of  the  nations  round. 

What  care  ha^t  thou  to  guard  from  Fortune's  sway  ? 

Amid  the  storms  of  w  ar,  how  soon  may  all 

The  lofty  pile  from  its  foundations  fall. 

Of  AGES  the  proud  toil,  the  ruin  of  a  day  ?  3  0 

IV. 

No  :  thou  art  rich,  thy  streams  and  fertile  vales 

Add  Industry's  wise  gifts  to  Nature's  store  : 
And  every  port  is  crowded  with  thy  sails. 
And  every  wave  throws  treasure  on  thy  shore. 
What  boots  it  ?     If  luxurious  plenty  charm 
Thy  selfibh  heart  from  gloky,  if  thy  arm 
Shrink  at  the  frowns  of  danger  and  of  pain. 
Those  Gifts,  that  Treasure  is  no  longer  thine. 
Oh  rather  far  be  poor.     Thy  gold  will  shine        39 

Tempting  the  eye  of  Force,  and  deck  thee  to  thy  bane. 

V. 

But  what  hath  Force  or  War  to  do  with  thee  ? 

Girt  by  the  azure  tide  and  throned  sublime 
Amid  thy  floating  bulwarks,  thou  canst  see. 
With  scorn,  the  fury  of  each  hostile  clime 
Dash'd  ere  it  reach  thee.     Sacred  from  the  foe 
Are  thy  fair  fields.     Athwart  thy  guardian  prow 
No  bold  invader's  foot  shall  tempt  the  strand^ 
Yet  say,  my  country,  \Nill  the  waves  and  wind 
Obey  thee  ?     Hast  tliou  all  Ihy  hopes  resign'd        49 
To  the  skip's  fickle  faith  ?  the  pilot's  ixavering  hand  ? 


9^  ODE    XL 

VL 

For  oh  may  neither  Fear  nor  stronger  Love 

(Love,  by  thy  virtuous  princes  nobly  won) 

Thee,  last  of  many  wretched  nations,  move. 

With  mighty  armies  station'd  round  the  throne 

To  trust  thy  safety.     Then,  farewell  the  claims 

Of  FREEDOM  !  Her  proud  records  to  the  flames. 

Then  bear,  an  offering  at  ambition's  shrine ; 

Whate'er  thy  antient  patriots  dared  demand  53 

From  furious  John's,  or  faithless  Charles's  hand. 

Or  what  great  William  seal'd  for  his  adopted  line. 

VII. 
But  if  thy  sons  be  worthy  of  their  name. 

If  liberal  laws  with  liberal  hearts  they  prize. 

Let  them  from  conquest,  and  from  servile  shame 

In  War's  glad  school  their  own  protectors  rise. 

Ye  chiefly,  heirs  of  Albion's  cultured  plains. 

Ye  LEADERS  of  her  bold  and  faithful  swains. 

Now  not  unequal  to  your  birth  be  found : 

The  public  voice  bids  arm  your  rural  state. 

Paternal  hamlets  for  your  ensigns  wait,  69 

And  grange  and  fold  prepare  to  pour  their  youth  around. 

VIII. 
Why  are  ye  tardy  r  what  inglorious  care 

Detains  you  from  their  head,  your  native  post; 

Who  mot  their  country's  Fai7ic  and  Fortune  share, 

'Tis  theirs  to  share  her  Toils,  her  Perils  most. 

Each  man  his  task  in  social  life  sustains. 

With  partial  labours,  with  domestic  gains 

Let  others  dwell :  to  you  indulgent  Heaven 

By  counsel  and  by  arms  the  public  cavse 

To  serve  for  public  love  and  love's  applause,  7!) 

The  first  employment  far,  the  noblest  h:re,  hath  given. 


BOOK  THE  SECOND.  93 

IX. 
Have  ye  not  heard  of  Laced^mon's  fame  ? 

Of  Attic  chiefs  in  Freedom's  war  divine  ? 

Of  Rome's  dread  generals  ?  the  Valerian  name  ? 

The  Fabian  sons  ?  the  Scipios'  matchless  line  ? 

Your  lot  was  theirs.     The  Farmer  and  the  Swain 

Met  his  loved  Patron's  summons  from  the  plain  ; 

The  legions  gather'd ;  the  bright  eagles  flew  : 

Barbarian  monarchs  in  the  triumphs  mourn'd  ; 

The  coNftt'ERORs  to  their  household  gods  return'd,  89 

And  fed  Calabrian  flocks,  and  steer'd  the  Sabine  plough. 

X. 

Shall  then  this  glory  of  the  antique  age. 

This  pride  of  men,  be  lost  among  mankind  ? 
Shall  war's  heroic  arts  no  more  engage 
The  unhought  hand,  the  unsuhjected  mind  ? 
Doth  valour  to  the  race  no  more  belong  ? 
No  more  with  scorn  of  violence  and  wrong 
Doth  forming  Nature  now  her  sons  inspire. 
That,  like  some  mystery  to  few  reveal'd. 
The  skill  of  arms  abash 'd  and  awed  they  yield,      99 
And  from  their  own  defence  with  hopeless  hearts  retire? 

XI. 

O  shame  to  human  life,  to  human  laws  ! 

The  loose  adventurer,  hireling-  of  a  day. 
Who  his  fell  sword  without  aftection  draws. 
Whose  God,  whose  country  is  a  tyrant's  pay. 
This  man  the  lessons  of  the  field  can  learn  ; 
Can  every  palm,  \\hicli  decks  a  warrior,  earn. 
And  every  pledge  of  conquest ;  while  in  vain. 
To  guard  your  altars,  your  paternal  land.«. 
Are  social  arm?  held  out  to  your  free  hand^  :  JO'; 

T*»o  arduous  is  the  lorej  too  irksome  were  the  paii*. 


»4  o  D  E  xr. 

XII. 

Meantime  by  pleasure's  lying  tales  allured^ 

From  the  bright  sun  and  living  breeze  ye  stray ;. 

And  deep  in  London's  gloomy  haunts  immured. 

Brood  o'er  your  fortune's,  freedom's,  health's  decay. 

O  blind  of  choice  and  to  yourselves  untrue  1 

The  young  grove  shoots,  their  bloom  the  fields  renew. 

The  MANSION  asks  its  lord,  the  swains  their  friend  ; 

While  HE  doth  riot's  orgies  haply  share, 

Or  tempt  the  gamester's  dark,  destroying  snare,  119 

Or  at  some  courtly  shrine  with  slavish  incense  bend. 

XIII. 
And  yet  full  oft  your  anxious  tongues  complain. 

That  lawless  tumult  prompts  the  rustic  throng  ; 

That  the  rude  village-inmates  now  disdain 

Those  homely  ties  which  ruled  their  fathers  long. 

Alas,  your  fathers  did  by  other  arts 

Draw  those  kind  ties  around  their  simple  hearts,. 

And  led  in  other  paths  their  ductile  will ; 

By  succour,  faithful  counsel,  courteous  cheer,        128 

Won  them  the  ancient  manners  to  revere,         [fulfil. 

To  prize   their  country's  peace  and  heaven's  due  rites 

XIV. 
But  mark  the  judgment  of  experienced  Time, 

Tutor  of  nations.     Doth  light  discord  tear 

A  state  ?  and  impotent  seditions  crime ? 

The  powers  of  warlike  prudence  dwell  not  there  ; 

The  powers  who  to  command  and  to  obey. 

Instruct  the  valiant.     There  would  civil  sway 

The  rising  race  to  manly  concord  tame  ? 

Oft  let  the  marshal'd  field  their  steps  unite. 

And  in  glad  splendor  bring  before  their  sight 

O.NE  common  cause  and  one  hereditary  fame.  140 


BOOK  THE   SECOND:  95 

XV. 

Nor  yet  be  awed,  nor  yet  your  task  disown. 

Though  war's  proud  votaries  look  on  severe ; 
Though  secrets,  taught  erewliile  to  them  alone, 
They  deem  profaned  by  your  intruding  ear. 
Let  them  in  vain,  your  martial  hope  to  quell. 
Of  new  refinements,  fiercer  weapons  tell. 
And  mock  the  old  simplicity,  in  vain  : 
To  the  time's  warfare,  simple  or  refined. 
The  time  itself  adapts  the  warrior's  mind  ;  11-9 

And  equal  prowess  still  shall  equal  palms  obtain. 

XVI. 

Say  then  ;  if  England's  youth,  in  earlier  days. 

On  glory'.*  field  with  well-train'd  armies  vied. 

Why  shall  they  now  renounce  that  generous  praise  ? 

Why  dread  the  foreign  mercenary's  pride? 

Though  Valois  braved  young  Euwakd's  gentle  hand. 

And  Albret  rush'd  on  Hexky's  way-worn  band. 

With  Europe's'  chosen  sons  in  arms  renown'd. 

Yet  not  on  Vekf.'s  bold  archers  long  they  look'd  : 

ISov  Audley's  squires  nor  Mowbray's  yeomen  brook'd: 

They  saw  their  standard  fall,  and  left  their  Monarch 

bound.  leo 

XVI. 
Such  were  the  laurels  which  your  fathers  won ; 

Such  glory's  dictates  in  their  dauntless  breast : 

—Is  there  no  voice  that  '^[)fcaks  to  every  son  i 

No  nobler,  holier  call  to  you  address'd  ? 

O  !  by  majestic  freedom,  righteous  laws. 

By  heavenly  truth ';<,  by  manly  reason's  cause. 

Awake;  attend  ;  be  indolent  no  more, 

liy  friendship,  social  peace,  domestic  love, 

Rise  ;  arm  j  your  country's  living  safety  prove  ;   IGO 

And  train  her  valiant  youth,  and  watch  around  her  shore. 


96 

ODE    XIl. 

ON   RECOVERING  FROM   AFIT  OF 

SICKNESS, 

IN  THE  COUNTRY. 

MDCCLVIII. 

I. 

X  IIY  verdant  scenes,  O  Goulder's  hill. 
Once  more  I  seek,  a  languid  guest : 
With  throbbing  temples  and  with  burden'd  breast 
Once  more  I  climb  thy  steep  aerial  way. 
O  faithful  cure  of  ofl-returning  ill. 
Now  call  thy  sprightly  breezes  round. 
Dissolve  this  rigid  cough  profound  7 

And  bid  the  springs  of  life  with  gentler  movement  play. 

J  I. 
How  gladly  'mid  the  dews  of  dawn 

My  weary  lungs  thy  healing  gale. 
The  balmy  west  or  the  fresh  north,  inhale  ! 
How  gladly,  while  my  musing  footsteps  rove 
Round  the  cool  orchard  or  the  sunny  lawn. 

Awaked  I  stop,  and  look  to  find 

What  shrub  perfumes  the  pleasant  wind,  1 5 

Or  what  wild  songster  charms  the  Dryads  of  the  grove. 

III. 

Now  ere  the  morning  walk  is  done. 

The  distant  voice  of  HEALTH  I  hear 
Welcome  as  beauty's  to  the  lover's  ear, 
"  Droop  not,  nor  doubt  of  my  return,"  she  cries  ; 
"  Here  will  I,  'mid  the  radiant  calm  of  noon. 


BOOK   THE    SECOND.  97 

'•  Meet  thee  beneath  yon  chesnut  bovver, 
"  And  lenienl  on  thy  bosom  pour  23 

•*'  That  indolence  divine  which  lulls  the  earth  and  skies." 

IV. 

The  goddess  promised  not  in  vain. 

I  found  her  at  my  favorite  time. 
Nor  wish'd  to  breathe  in  any  softer  clime, 
While  (half-reclined,  half  slumbering  as  I  lay) 
She  hover'd  o'er  me.     Then,  among  her  train 
Of  nymphs  and  zephyrs,  to  my  view 
Thy  gracious  form  appcar'd  anew,  5 1 

Then  first,  O  heavenly  INIuse,  unseen  for  many  a  day. 
V. 
In  that  soft  pomp  the  tuneful  maid 

Shone  like  the  golden  star  of  love. 
I  saw  her  hand  in  careless  measures  move ; 
1  beard  sweet  preludes  dancing  on  her  lyre. 
While  my  whole  frame  the  sacred  sound  obey'd. 
New  sunshine  o'er  my  fancy  springs. 
New  colours  clothe  external  things,  59 

•\nd  the  last  glooms  of  pain  and  sickly  plaint  retire. 

VI. 

0  GoLLDKi'/s  lULL,  by  thee  rcstored 

Once  more  to  this  enliven'd  hand. 
My  HARP,  which  late  resounded  o'er  the  land 
The  voice  of  glory,  solemn  and  severe, 
My  Dorian  harv  shall  now  with  mild  accord 

To  TiiLE  her  joyful  tribute  ])ay. 

And  send  a  less-ambitious  lay  4-7 

Oi  friendship  and  of  love  to  greet  thy  master's  ear, 

VII. 

1  or  when  within  lljy  sb.^dy  seat 

•First  from  the  suhry  town  he  chost, 

1  i  t 


08  ODE  XII. 

And  the  tired  senate's  cares,  his  wish'd  reposSj, 
Then  wast  thou  mine ;  to  ine  a  happier  home 
For  social  leisure :  where  my  welcome  feet. 
Estranged  from  all  the  entangling  ways. 
In  which  the  restless  vulgar  strays. 
Through   Nature's   simple  paths,   with  ancient    faith 
might  roam.  56 

VIII. 
And  while  around  his  sylvan  scene 

My  Dyson  led  the  white-wing'd  hours. 
Oft  from  the  Athenian  Academic  bowers 
Their  saoes  came  :  ofl  heard  our  lingering  walk 
The  Mantuan  music  warbling  o'er  the  green  : 
And  oft  did  Tilly's  reverend  shade. 
Though  much  for  liberty  afraid,  63 

With  us  of  letter 'd  ease  or  virtuous  glory  talk. 

IX. 

But  other  guests  were  on  their  way. 

And  reach 'd  erelong  this  favoured  grove ; 
Even  the  celestial  progeny  of  Jove, 
Brighl  Venls,  with  her  all-subduing  son. 
Whose  golden  shaft  most  willingly  obey 

The  best  and  wisest.     As  they  came,  (3;> 

Clad  Hymen  waved  his  genial  flame,  [throne, 

And  sang-  their  happy  gifts,  and  praised  their  spotless 

X. 

I  saw  when  through  yon  festive  gate 

He  led  along  his  chosen  maid, 
And  to  my  friend  with  smiles  presenting  said  j 
"  Receive  that  fairest  wealth  which  Heaven  assign  d 
"  To  human  fortune.     Did  thy  lonely  state 

"  One  wish,  one  utmost  hope  confess  ? 
"  Behold,  she  comes,  to  adorn  and  bless :  73 

"  Comes,  worthy  ofiby  heart,  and  equal  to  thy  mind." 


BOOK    THE    SECOND.  '99 

ODE     XIIL 

TO  THE  AUTHOR  OF  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 
HOUSE  OF  BRANDENBURGH : 

M  D  C  C  L  I. 

I. 

1  HE  men  renown'd  as  chiefs  of  human  race,* 
And  born  to  lead  in  counsels  or  in  arms. 
Have  seldom  turn'd  their  feet  from  glory's  chace 
To  dwell  with  books,  or  court  the  Muse's  charms. 
Yet,  to  our  eyes  if  haply  Time  hath  brought 
Some  genuine  transcript  of  their  calmer  thought. 
There  still  we  own  the  wise,  the  great,  or  good; 
And  Cesar  there  and  Xesophon  are  seen. 
As  clear  in  spirit  and  sublime  of  mien. 
As  on  Pharsalian  plains,  or  by  the  Assyrian  flood.      10 

II. 

Say  thou  too,  Fcederic,  was  not  this  thy  aim  ? 

Thy  vigils  could  the  student's  lamp  engage, 

•V.  l.]  In  the  year  1751  apprarcd  a  very  splemlid  editim,  in 
quarto,  of  Memoirs  pour  servir  a  I' Hutiire  de  in  A^aion  ds  ISrundi:- 
bourg,  a  Berlin  <3f  a  /«  Uatje ^  t^ith  a  privil'>ge  signed  iRtuER.c;  tho 
game  being  engrarrH  in  imitation  of  hand-writin?.  In  this  edition, 
aiTii>ng  other  cxtmordinary  passages,  are  the  two  following,  to  which 
the  third  stanza  of  this  ode  more  particularly  rcfi-rs  : 

Page  1 63.]  II  .*«  ft  une  migration  (the  author  is  speaking  of 
v.hat  happfnrd  on  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of  Aan/c^j  dont  on 
n'avoit  giierc  vi  d^creraples  dans  Vhisto'ire:  tin  peuple  cnlicr  sorlit  du 
royaume  p-iv  rerprit  de  parti  en  haine  du  pupc,  Sf  fniur  rectvoir  sous 
vn  autre  del  la  communion  ious  les  deux  especes.  Jiuatre  ctns  milU 
ttmes  i'cxpatrierent  aiHsi  t^  abandonntrenl  toua  leur  biens  jmur  de/oH' 
ncr  danf  d'ai^tres  temples  Ics  viiux  pseaumes  de  Clement  M'.rol. 

Pagf;  242.]  la  crainie  donna  le  jour  a  la  credulity,  ^  I'amuur 
propre  inieressa  bicntot  le  del  au  destin  des  hommes. 


^^  ODE    XIII. 

Except  for  this  ?  except  that  future  Fame 
Might  read  thy  genius  in  the  faithful  page  ? 
That  if  hereafter  Envy  shall  presume 
With  words  irreverent  to  inscribe  thy  tombi 
And  baser  weeds  upon  thy  palms  to  fling. 
That  hence  posterity  may  try  thy  reign. 
Assert  thy  treaties,  and  thy  wars  explain. 
And  view  in  native  lights  the  Htno  and  the  king.       20 

III. 
O  evil  foresight  and  pernicious  care  !' 
Wilt  thou  indeed  abide  by  this  appeal  ? 
Shall  we  the  lessons  of  thy  pen  compare 
With  private  honour  or  with  public  zeal  ? 
Whence  then  at  things  divine  those  darts  of  scorn  ? 
Why  are  the  woes,  which  virtuous  men  have  borne 
For  sacred  truth,  a  prey  to  laughter  given  ? 
What  fiend,  what  foe  of  Nature  urged  thy  arm 
The  Almighty  of  his  sceptre  to  disarm  ?  29 

To  push  this  earth  adrift  and  leave  it  loose  from  heaven? 

IV. 

Ye  god-like  shades  of  legislators  old. 

Ye  who  made  Rome  victorious,  Athens  wise. 
Ye  first  of  mortals  with  the  bless'd  inroll'd. 
Say  did  not  horror  in  your  bosoms  rise. 
When  thus  by  impious  vanity  impell'd 
A  MAGISTRATE,  a  MONARCH,  yc  beheld 
Alfronting  civil  order's  holiest  bands  ? 
Those  bands  which  ye  so  labour'd  to  improve  .' 
'I'hose  ho})es  and  fears  of  justice  from  above, 
^^'hit•h  tamed  the  savage  world  to  your  divine  com- 
mands ?  4Q 


Wl 

ODE    XIV. 

THE  COMPLAINT. 
I. 

AwAY!  Away! 
Tempt  me  no  more,  insidious  love : 

Thy  soothing  sway 
Long^  did  my  youthful  bosom  prove  : 
At  length  thy  treason  is  discern'd. 
At  length  some  dear-bought  caution  earu'il : 
Away  !  nor  hope  my  ripei  age  to  move.  7 

II. 
I  know,  I  see 

Her  merit :  needs  it  now  be  shewn, 

Alas,  to  me  ? 

How  often,  to  myself  unknown. 

The  graceful,  gentle,  virtuous  maid 

Have  I  adraired!     How  often  said, 

What  joy  to  call  a  heart  like  her's  one'?  own  !  1 1 

HI. 
But,  flattering  god, 

O  squanderer  of  content  and  case  I 

In  thy  abode 

Will  cart's  rude  lesson  learn  to  please  ? 

()  say,  deceiver,  hast  thou  won, 

Proud  fortune  to  attend  thy  throne. 

Or  {)laced  thy  friends  above  her  stern  decrees  ?  21 


Ii2 


102 


ODE    XV, 

ON  DOMESTIC   MANNERS. 

[  UNFINISHED.  ] 
I. 

IVJEEK  honour,  female  shame, 
O!  whither,  sweetest  offspring  of  the  sky. 

From  Albion  dost  thou  fly ; 
Of  Albion*s  daughters  once  the  favourite  fame  ^ 

O  beauty's  only  friend. 
Who  givesther  pleasing  reverence  to  inspire; 

Who  selfish,  bold  desire 
Dost  to  esteem  and  dear  affection  turn ; 

Alas,  of  thee  forlorn  9^ 

What  joy,  what  praise,  what  hope  can  life  pretend? 

IJ. 

Behold  ;  our  youths  in  vain 

Concerning  nuptial  happiness  inquire  : 

Our  maids  no  more  aspire 
The  arts  of  bashful  Hymen  to  attain ; 

But  with  triumphant  eyes 
And  cheeks  impassive,  as  they  move  along. 

Ask  homage  of  the  throng. 
The  lover  swears  that  in  a  harlot's  arms 

Are  found  the  self-same  charms. 
And  worthless  and  deserted  lives  and  dies.  20 

III. 
Behold :  unbless'd  at  home. 

The  father  of  the  cheerless  household  mourns ; 


BOOK   THE   SECOND.  103 

The  night  in  vain  returns, 
For  love  and  glad  content  at  distance  roam  ', 

While  she,  in  whom  his  mind 
Seeks  refuge  from  the  day's  dull  task  of  cares. 

To  meet  him  she  prepares. 
Through  noise  and  spleen  and  all  the  gamester's  art, 

A  listless,  harrass'd  heart,  29 

Where  not  one  tender  thought  can  welcome  find. 

lY. 
'Twas  thus,  along  the  shore 

Of  Thames,  Britannia's  guardian  Genius  heard. 

From  many  a  tongue  preferr'd. 
Of  strife  and  grief  the  fond  invective  lore  : 

At  which  the  queen  divine 
Indignant,  with  her  adamantine  spear 

Like  thunder  sounding  near. 
Smote  the  red  cross  upon  her  silver  shield. 

And  thus  her  wrath  reveal'd.  39 

(I  watch'd  her  awful  words  and  made  them  mine.) 


THE  END  OF  BOOK  THE  SECOND. 


104 


MISCELLANIES. 


AN  EPISTLE  TO  CURIO.  * 
MDCCXLIV. 

Neqiie  tarn  ulciscendi  causa  dixi,  quam  ut  Sf  in  prasena 
sceleratos  cives  timore  ab  impugnanda  patria  detine- 
rem ;  <^  in  posterum,  documcntum  statuercm,  ne  qids 
talem  amentiam  vdkt  imitari.  Tull. 

i  HRICE  has  the  spring  beheld  thy  faded  fame. 
And  the  fourth  winter  rises  on  thy  shame. 
Since  I  exulting  grasped  the  votive  shell. 
In  sounds  of  triumph  all  thy  praise  to  tell ; 
Blest  could  my  skill  through  ages  make  thee  shine,     5 
And  proud  to  mix  my  memory,  with  thine. 
But  now  the  cause  that  waked  my  song  before. 
With  praise,  with  triumph,  crowns  the  toil  no  more. 
If  to  the  glorious  man  whose  faithful  cares. 
Nor  quell'd  by  malice,  nor  relax'd  by  years,  10 

Had  awed  Ambition's  wild  audacious  hate  ; 
And  dragg'd  at  length  Corruption  to  her  fate ; 
If  every  tongue  its  large  applauses  owed, 
And  well-earn'd  laurels  every  Muse  bestow 'd. 
If  p\iblic  justice  urged  the  high  reward,  15 

And  Freedom  smiled  on  the  devoted  bard  ; 
Say  then,  to  him  whose  levity  or  lust 
Laid  all  a  people's  generous  hopes  in  dust ; 

•  See  the  note  to  the  Ode  to  Curio,  page  28, 


EPISTLE  TO  CURIO.  105 

Who  taught  Ambition  firmer  heights  of  power, 

And  saved  Corruption  at  her  hopeless  hour  ;  20 

Does  not  each  tongue  its  execrations  owe  ? 

Shall  not  each  Muse  a  wreath  of  shame  bestow  ? 

And  public  justice  sanctify  the  award  ? 

And  Freedom's  hand  protect  the  impartial  bard? 

Yet,  long  reluctant,  I  forbore  thy  name,  25 

Long  watch'd  thy  virtue  like  a  dying  flame. 
Hung  o'er  each  glimmering  spark  with  anxious  eyes^ 
And  wish'd  and  hoped  the  light  again  would  risoii 
But  since  thy  guilt  still  more  entire  appears. 
Since  no  art  hides,  no  supposition  clears ;  30 

Since  vengeful  Slander  now  too  sinks  her  blast. 
And  the  first  rage  of  party-hate  is  past ; 
Calm  as  the  judge  of  Truth,  at  length  I  con>e. 
To  weigh  thy  merits,  and  pronounce  thy  doom  : 
So  may  my  trust  from  all  reproach  be  free,  25 

And  Earth  and  Time  confirm  the  fair  decree. 

There  are  who  say  they  view'd  without  amaze 
The  sad  reverse  of  all  thy  former  praise ; 
That  through  the  pageants  of  a  patriot's  name. 
They  pierced  the  foulness  of  thy  secret  aim  j  40 

Or  deem'd  thy  arm  exalted  but  to  throw 
The  public  thunder  on  a  private  foe  : 
But  I,  whose  soul  consented  to  thy  cause. 
Who  felt  thy  genius  stamp  its  own  applause. 
Who  saw  the  spirits  of  each  glorious  age  45 

Move  in  thy  bosom,  and  direct  thy  rage  ; 
I  scorn 'd  the  ungenerous  gloss  of  slavish  minds. 
The  owl-eyed  race,  whom  Virtue's  lustre  blinds ; 
Spite  of  the  learned  in  the  ways  of  vice. 
And  all  who  prove  that  each  man  has  his  price,  50 


JOO  MISCELLANIES. 

I  still  believed  thy  end  was  just  and  free  ^ 

And  yet,  even  yet  believe  it— spite  of  thee. 

Even  though  thy  mouth  impure  has  dared  disclaim. 

Urged  by  the  wretched  impotence  of  shame. 

Whatever  filial  cares  thy  zeal  bad  paid  5  J 

To  laws  infirm,  and  liberty  decay 'd  ; 

Has  begg'd  Ambition  to  forgive  the  show  ; 

Has  told  Corruption  thou  wert  ne'er  her  foe ; 

Has  boasted  in  thy  country's  awful  ear, 

Mer  gross  delusion  when  she  held  thee  dear  ;  60 

How  tame  she  foUow'd  thy  tempestuous  call. 

And  heard  thy  pompous  tales,  and  trusted  all — 

Rise  from  your  sad  abodes,  ye  curst  of  old. 

For  laws  subverted,  and  for  cities  sold  ! 

Paint  all  the  noblest  trophies  of  your  guilt,  65 

The  oaths  you  perjured,  and  the  blood  you  spilt  j 

Yet  must  you  one  untempted  vileness  own. 

One  dreadful  palm  reserved  for  him  alone ; 

With  studied  arts  his  country*s  praise  to  spurn. 

To  beg  the  infamy  he  did  not  earn,  70 

To  challenge  hate  when  honour  was  his  due. 

And  plead  his  crimes,  where  all  his  virtue  knew. 

Do  robes  of  state  the  guarded  heart  inclose 
From  each  fair  feeling  human  nature  knows  ? 
Can  pompous  titles  stun  the  enchanted  ear  75 

To  all  that  reason,  all  that  sense  would  hear  ? 
Else  couldst  thou  e'er  desert  thy  sacred  post. 
In  such  unthankful  baseness  to  be  lost  ? 
Else  cculdst  thou  wed  the  emptiness  of  vice. 
And  yiaW  thy  glories  at  an  idiot's  price?  SO 

When  they  who  loud  for  liberty  and  laws. 
In  doubtful  times  bad  fought  their  country's  cause. 


EPISTLE  TO   CURIO.  107 

When  now  of  conquest  and  dominioti  sure. 

They  sought  alone  to  hold  their  fruits  secure  ; 

When  taught  by  these.  Oppression  hid  the  face  85 

To  leave  Corruption  stronger  in  her  place. 

By  silent  spells  to  work  the  public  fate. 

And  taint  the  vitals  of  the  passive  state. 

Till  healing  Wisdom  should  avail  no  more. 

And  Freedom  loathe  to  tread  the  poison 'd  shore;        90 

Then,  like  some  guardian  god,  that  flies  to  save 

The  weary  pilgrim  from  an  instant  grave. 

Whom,  sleeping  and  secure,  the  guileful  snake 

Steals  near  and  nearer  through  the  peaceful  brake  ; 

Then  Curio  rose,  to  ward  the  public  woe  f  3 

To  wake  the  heedless  and  incite  the  slow. 

Against  Corruption  Liberty  to  arm. 

And  quell  the  enchantress  by  a  mightier  charm. 

Swift  o'er  the  land  the  fair  contagion  flew. 
And  with  thy  country's  hopes  thy  honours  grew  :     100 
Thee,  Patriot,  the  patrician  roof  confestj 
Tby  i^owerful  voice  the  rescued  merchant  bleet ; 
Of  thee  with  awe  the  rural  hearth  resounds; 
Tlie  bowl  to  thee  the  grateful  sailor  crowns  : 
Touch'd  in  the  sighing  shade  with  manlier  fires,       10  5 
To  trace  thy  steps  the  love-sick  youth  aspires ; 
.  The  learn'd  recluse,  who  oft  amazed  had  read 
j     Of  Grecian  heroes,  Roman  patriots  dead. 

With  new  amazement  hears  a  living  name 
I     Pretend  to  share  in  such  forgotten  fame;  ]  10 

I   "And  he  who,  scorning  courts  and  courtly  ways, 
Left  the  tame  track  of  these  dejected  days. 
The  lite  of  nobler  ages  to  renew. 
In  virtues  sacred  from  a  monarch's  view. 


108  MISCELLANIES. 

Roused  by  thy  labours  from  the  blest  retreat,  1 15 

Where  social  ease,  and  public  passions  meet, 
Again  ascending  treads  the  civil  scene. 
To  act  and  be  a  Man,  as  thou  had'st  been. 

Thus  by  degrees  thy  cause  superior  grew. 
And  the  great  End  appear'd  at  last  in  view  :  120 

We  heard  the  people. in  thy  hopes  rejoice; 
We  saw  the  senate  bending  to  thy  voice ; 
The  Friends  of  Freedom  hail'd  the  approaching  reign 
Of  laws  for  which  our  fathers  bled  in  vain  ; 
While  venal  Faction,  struck  with  new  dismay,  125 

Shrunk  at  their  frown,  and  self-abandon'd  lay. 
Waked  in  the  shock,  the  public  genius  rose, 
Abash'd,  and  keener  from  his  long  repose ; 
Sublime  in  ancient  pride,  he  raised  the  spear 
Which  slaves  and  tyrants  long  were  wont  to  fear :    130 
The  city  felt  his  call :  from  man  to  man. 
From  street  to  street  the  glorious  horror  ran; 
Each  crowded  haunt  was  stirr'd  beneath  his  power. 
And  mumuring  challenged  the  deciding  hour. 

Lo  !  the  deciding  hour  at  last  appears;  135 

The  hour  of  every  freeman's  hopes  and  fears  ! 
Thou,  Genius  !  guardian  of  the  Roman  name, 
O  ever  prompt  tyrannic  rage  to  tame  ! 
Instruct  the  mighty  moments  as  they  roll. 
And  guide  each  movement  steady  to  the  goal,  lio 

Ye  spirits,  by  whose  providential  art 
Succeeding  motives  turn  the  changeful  heart, 
Keep,  keep  the  best  in  view  to  Clrio's  mind. 
And  watch  his  fancy  and  his  passions  bind  ! 
Ye  shades  immortal,  who,  by  Freedom  led,  i \5 

Or  in  the  field  or  on  the  scaffold  bled, 


EPISTLE   TO    CURIO.  109 

Bend  from  your  radiant  seats  a  joyful  eye. 

And  view  the  crown  of  all  your  labours  nigh. 

See  Freedom  mounting  her  eternal  throne  ! 

The  sword  submitted  and  the  laws  her  own  :  150 

See  !  public  power  chastised  beneath  her  stands. 

With  eyes  intent  and  uncorrupted  hands  : 

See  private  life  by  wisest  arts  reclaim'd  ! 

See  ardent  youth  to  noblest  manners  framed ! 

See  us  acquire  whate'er  was  sought  by  you,  155 

If  CuKio,  only  Curio  will  be  true. 

'Twas  then — O  shame  !  O  trust,  how  ill  repaid  ! 
O  Latium  oft  by  faithless  sons  betray 'd  ! — 
'Twas  then— What  frenzy  on  thy  reason  stole  ? 
What  spells  unsinew'd  thy  determin'd  soul  ?  1 60 

— Is  this  the  man  in  freedom's  cause  approved  ? 
The  man  so  great,  so  honour'd,  so  beloved  r 
This  patient  slave  by  tinsel  Chains  allured  ? 
Tliis  wretched  suitor  for  a  boon  abjured  ? 
This  Curio,  hated  and  despised  by  all  ?  3  05 

Who  lell  himself,  to  work  his  country's  fall  ? 

O  lost  alike  to  action  and  repose  ! 
Unown'd,  unpitied  in  the  worst  of  woes ! 
With  all  that  conscious,  undissemblcd  pride. 
Sold  to  the  insults  of  a  foe  defy'd  !  170 

With  ill  that  habit  of  familiar  fame, 
Doom'd  to  exhaust  the  dregs  of  life  in  shame  ! 
The  sole  sad  refuge  of  tljy  baflled  .art. 
To  act  a  statesman's  dull,  exploded  part, 
Renounce  the  praise  no  longer  in  thy  power,  175 

Display  thy  virtue  though  without  a  Dower, 
Contemn  the  giddy  crowd,  the  vulgar  wind. 
And  shut  thy  eyes  that  others  may  be  blind. 
Kk 


110  MISCELLANIES. 

~Forgive  me,  Romans,  that  I  bear  to  smile 

When  shameless  mouths  your  majesty  defile,  1 80 

Paint  you  a  thoughtless,  frantic,  headlong  crew. 

And  cast  their  own  impieties  on  you. 

For  witness.  Freedom,  to  whose  sacred  power 

My  soul  was  vow'd  Irom  reason's  earliest  hour. 

How  have  I  stood  exulting  to  survey  185 

My  country's  virtues  opening  in  thy  ray  ! 

Mow,  with  the  sons  of  every  foreign  shore 

The  more  I  match'd  them,  honour'd  hers  the  more  ! 

O  race  erect  I  whose  native  strength  of  soul. 

Which  kings,  nor  priests,  nor  sordid  laws  control,    190 

Bursts  the  tame  round  of  animal  affairs. 

And  seeks  a  nobler  center  for  its  cares; 

Intent  the  laws  of  life  to  comprehend. 

And  fix  dominion's  limits  by  its  end. 

Who  bold  and  equal  in  their  love  or  hate,  IQ5 

By  conscious  Reason  judging  every  state. 

The  tnan  forget  not,  though  in  rags  he  lies. 

And  know  the  mortal  through  a  crown's  disguise  : 

Thence  prompt  alike  with  witty  scorn  to  view 

Fastidious  Grandeur  lift  his  solemn  brow,  200 

Or  all-awake  at  Pity's  soft  command. 

Bend  the  mild  ear  and  stretch  the  gracious  hand  : 

Thence  large  of  heart,  from  envy  far  removed. 

When  public  toils  to  virtue  stand  approved. 

Not  the  young  lover  fonder  to  admire,  205 

Nor  more  indulgent  the  delighted  Sire ; 

Yet  high  and  jealous  of  their  freeborn  name. 

Fierce  as  the  flight  oi  Jove's  destroying  flame. 

Where'er  Oppression  works  her  wanton  sway. 

Proud  to  confront,  and  dreadful  to  repay.  210 


EPISTLE  TO  CURIO.  HI 

But  if  to  purchase  Curio's  sage  applause. 

My  country  must  with  him  renounce  her  cause. 

Quit  with  a  slave  the  path  a  patriot  trod. 

Bow  the  meek  knee  and  kiss  the  regal  rod ; 

Then  still,  ye  powers,  instruct  his  tongue  to  rail,       215 

Nor  let  his  zeal,  nor  let  his  subject  fail : 

Else  ere  he  change  the  syle,  bear  me  away 

To  where  the  *  Gracchi,  where  the  Bruti  stay  ! 

O  long  revered  and  late  resign'd  to  shame  1 
If  this  uncourtly  page  thy  notice  claim  220 

When  the  loud  cares  of  business  are  withdrawn. 
Nor  well-drest  beggars  round  thy  footsteps  fawn  ; 
In  that  still,  thoughtful,  solitary  hour. 
When  Truth  exerts  her  unresisted  power. 
Breaks  the  false  optics  tinged  with  Fortune's  glare,  225 
Unlocks  the-  breast  and  lays  the  passions  bare  j 
Then  turn  thy  eyes  on  that  important  scene. 
And  ask  thyself— -if  all  be  well  within. 
Where  is  the  heart-felt  worth  and  weight  of  soul. 
Which  labour  could  not  stop,  nor  fear  control  ?         230 
Where  the  known  dignity,  the  stamp  of  awe, 
Whic!),  half  abash'd,  the  proud  and  venal^aw  ? 
Where  the  calm  triumphs  of  an  honest  cause  ? 
Where  the  delightful  taste  of  just  applause  ? 
Wliere  the  strong  reason,  the  commanding  tongue. 
On  which  the  Senate  fired  or  trembhng  hung  ?         236 
All  vanish'd,  all  are  sold — And  in  their  room, 
Couch'd  in  ihy  bosom's  deep,  distracted  gloom, 

♦  Vcr.  218.  3  The  two  brothers,  Ttbcmis  and  Cuius  Gracchus  lost 
their  lives  in  attempting  to  intro<luce  the  only  regulation  tliat  could 
give  stability  and  good  order  to  the  Jioman  republic. 

L.  Jun.  Brutus  founded  the  commonwealth,  and  died  in  its 
defence. 


112  MISCELLANIES. 

See  the  pale  form  of  barbarous  Grandeur  dwell, 

LUvc  some  grim  idol  in  a  sorcerer's  cell !  210 

To  her  in  chains  thy  dignity  was  led  ; 

At  her  polluted  shrine  thy  honour  bled; 

With  blasted  weeds  thy  awful  brow  she  crown'd. 

Thy  powerful  tongue  with  poison'd  philters  bound. 

That  baffled  Reason  straight  imlignaut  flew,  245 

And  fair  Persuasion  from  her  seat  withdrew  ; 

For  now  no  longer  Truth  supports  thy  cause  ; 

No  longer  Glory  prompts  thee  to  applause ; 

No  longer  Virtue  breathing  in  thy  breast. 

With  all  her  conscious  majesty  confest,  250 

Still  bright  and  brighter  wakes  the  almighty  flame 

To  rouse  the  feeble  and  the  wilful  tame. 

And  where  she  sees  the  catching  glimpses  roll. 

Spreads  the  strong  blaze  and  ail  involves  the  soul ; 

But  cold  restraints  thy  conscious  Fancy  chill,  255 

And  formal  passions  mock  thy  struggling  will; 

Or,  if  thy  Genius  e'er  forget  his  chain. 

And  reach  impatient  at  a  nobler  strain. 

Soon  the  sad  bodings  of  contemptuous  mirth  259 

Shoot  through  thy  breast  and  stab  the  generous  birth. 

Till,  blind  with  smart,  from  truth  to  frenzy  tost, 

And  all  the  tenor  of  thy  reason  lost ; 

Perhaps  thy  anguish  drains  a  real  tear ; 

While  some  with  pity,  some  with  laughter  hear. 

—Can  art,  alas !  or  genius  guide  the  head,  265 

Where  truth  and  freedom  from  the  heart  are  fled  ? 

Can  lesser  wheels  repeat  their  native  stroke. 

When  the  prime  function  of  the  soul  is  broke  ? 

But  come,  unhappy  Man  !  thy  fates  impend  ; 
Come,  quit  thy  friends,  if  yet  thou  hast  a  friend  :     270 


EPISTLE  TO  CURIO.  113 

Turn  from  the  poor  rewards  of  guilt  like  thine. 

Renounce  thy  titles  and  thy  robes  resign  ; 

For  see  the  hand  of  destiny  dispiay'd 

To  shut  thee  from  the  joys  thou  hast  betray'd  ! 

See  the  dire  fane  of  Infamy  arise  !  275 

Dark  as  the  grave,  and  spacious  as  the  skies ; 

Where  from  the  first  of  time,  thy  kindred  train. 

The  chiefs  and  princes  of  the  unjust  remain. 

Internal  barriers  guard  the  pathless  road 

To  warn  the  wanderer  of  the  curst  abode;  280 

But  prone  as  whirlwinds  scour  the  passive  sky. 

The  heights  surmounted,  down  the  steep  they  fly. 

There  black  with  frowns,  relentless  Time  awaits. 

And  goads  their  footsteps  to  the  guilty  gates ; 

And  still  be  asks  them  of  their  unknown  aims,         285 

Evolves  their  secrets  and  their  guilt  proclaims  ; 

And  still  his  hands  despoil  them  on  the  road 

Uf  each  vain  wreath  by  lying  bards  bestovv'd. 

Break  their  proud  marbles,  crush  their  festal  cars. 

And  rend  the  lawless  trophies  of  their  wars.  290 

At  last  the  gates  his  potent  voice  obey  ; 

Vierce  to  their  dark  ahode  he  drives  his  prey. 

Where,  ever  arm'd  with  adamantine  chains. 

The  watchful  d^mon  o'er  her  vassals  reigns. 

O'er  mighty  names  and  giant-powers  of  kst,  C}j 

The  Great,  the  Sac!;t',  the  ITfippjj  and  Auirus^.  * 

No  gleam  of  hojie  their  baleful  man>'ioii  chears 

No  sound  of  honour  hails  their  uublc.-t  ears; 

But  dire  reproaches  from  the  friend  betniyM, 

The  childless  sire  and  violated  uiaid  ;  300 

*  Vor.  19h.  ]     Tlfl''s  whith  Iiavo  !>ecn  generally  ascrii^e<!  to  the 
most  ^(orrii  clous  of  mer.. 

Kk2 


114-  MISCELLANIES, 

But  vengeful  vows  for  guardian  laws  effaced. 

From  towns  inslaved  and  continents  laid  waste; 

But  long  Posterity's  united  groan. 

And  the  sad  charge  of  horrors  not  their  own. 

For  ever  through  the  trembling  space  resound,         305 

And  sink  each  impious  forehead  to  the  ground. 

Ye  mighty  foes  of  Liberty  and  Rest, 
Give  way,  do  homage  to  a  migtitier  guest ! 
Ye  daring  spirits  of  the  Roman  race. 
See  Curio's  toil  your  proudest  claims  efface  !  310 

— Awed  at  the  name,  fierce  *  Appius  rising  bends. 
And  hardy  Cinna  from  his  throne  attends  : 
"  He  comes,"  they  cry  "  to  whom  the  Fates  assigned 
"  With  surer  arts  to  work  what  we  design'd, 
"  From  year  to  year  the  stubborn  herd  to  sway,       3 15 
*'  Mouth  all  their  wrongs,  and  all  their  rage  obey  ; 
"  Till,  own'd  their  guide  and  trusted  with  their  power, 
"  He  mock'd  their  hopes  in  one  decisive  hour ; 
"  Then,  tired  and  yielding,  led  them  to  the  chain, 
"  And  quench'd  the  spirit  we  provoked  in  vain."      320 

But  thou.  Supreme,  by  whose  eternal  hands 
Fair  Liberty's  heroic  empire  stands  j 
Whose  thunders  the  rebellious  deep  control. 
And  quell  the  triumphs  of  the  traitor's  soul, 
O  turn  this  dreadful  omen  far  away  I  325 

On  Freedom's  foes  their  own  attempts  repay; 
Relume  her  sacred  fire  so  near  supprest. 
And  fix  her  shrine  in  every  Roman  breast. 
Though  bold  Corruption  boast  around  the  land, 
"  Let  Virtue,  if  she  can,  my  baits  withstand  !"         330 

•  Ver.  311,  312.  ]  Appius  Claudius  the  decemvir  and  L.  Corne- 
lius Cinna  both  attempted  to  establish  a  tyrannical  dominion  in 
Home,  and  both  perished  by  the  treason. 


EPISTLE   TO   CURIO.  115 

Though  bolder  now  she  urge  the  accursed  claim. 

Gay  with  her  trophies  raised  on  Curio's  shame ; 

Yet  some  there  are  who  scorn  her  impious  mirth. 

Who  know  what  conscience  and  a  heart  are  worth. 

— O  friend  and  father  of  the  human  mind,  335 

Whose  art  for  noblest  ends  our  frame  design'd ! 

If  I,  though  fated  to  the  studious  shade 

Which  party-htrrfc  nor  anxious  power  invade. 

If  1  aspire  in  public  Virtue's  cause. 

To  guide  the  Muses  by  sublimer  laws,  340 

Do  thou  her  own  authority  impart. 

And  give  my  numbers  entrance  to  the  heart. 

Perhaps  the  verse  might  rouse  her  smother'd  flame. 

And  snatch  the  fainting  patriot  back  to  fame  ; 

Perhaps  by  worthy  thoughts  of  human  kind,  345 

To  worthy  deeds  exalt  the  conscious  mind ; 

Or  dash  Corruption  in  her  proud  career. 

And  teach  her  slaves  that  Vice  was  born  to  fear. 


LOVE. 

AN   ELEGY. 

A.  GO  much  my  heart  of  Beauty's  power  hath  known^ 
Too  long  to  Love  hath  Reason  left  her  throne  ; 
Too  long  my  Genius  mourn'd  his  myrtle  chain. 
And  three  rich  years  of  youth  consumed  in  vain. 
My  wishes,  lull'd  with  soft  inglorious  dreams,  6 

Forgot  the  patriot's  and  the  sage's  themes } 
Through  each  Elysian  vale  and  Fairy  grove. 
Through  all  the  enchanted  paradise  of  Love, 


Il*6  MISCELLAxNIES. 

Misled  by  sickly  Hope's  deceitful  flame. 

Averse  to  action,  and  renouncing  fame.  10 

At  last  the  visionary  scenes  decay, 
My  eyes,  exulting,  bless  the  newborn  day. 
Whose  faithful  beams  detect  the  dangerous  road 
In  which  my  heedless  feet  securely  trod. 
And  strip  the  phantoms  of  their  lying  charms,  13 

That  lured  my  soul  from  Wisdom's  ptacefid  arms. 

For  silver  streams  and  banks  bespread  with  flowers, 
For  mossy  couches  and  harmonious  bowers, 
Lo !  barren  heaths  appear,  and  pathless  woods. 
And  rocks  hung  dreadful  o'er  unfathomed  floods  :      20 
For  openness  of  heart,  for  tender  smiles, 
Looks  fraught  with  love,  and  wrath-disarming  wiles, 
Lo!   sullen  Spite,  and  perjured  Lust  of  Gain, 
And  cruel  Pride,  and  crueller  Disdain  ; 
Lo!  cordial  Faith,  to  idiot  airs  refined,  2? 

Now  coolly  civil,  now  transporting  kind. 
For  graceful  Ease,  lo  !  Afiectation  walks ; 
And  dull  Half-sense  for  Wit  and  W^isdom  talks : 
New  to  each  hour,  what  low  delight  succeeds. 
What  precious  furniture  of  hearts  and  heads  !  30 

By  nought  their  prudence,  but  by  getting,  known. 
And  all  their  courage  in  deceiving  shown. 

See  next  what  plagues  attend  the  lover's  state. 
What  frightful  forms  of  Teri-or,  Scorn,  and  Hate  ! 
See  burning  Fury  heaven  and  earth  defy  !  3i 

See  dumb  Despair  in  icy  fetters  lie  ! 
See  black  Suspicion  bend  his  gloomy  brow. 
The  hideous  image  of  himself  to  view  ! 
And  fond  Belief,  vv-ith  all  a  lover's  flame,  9,0 

Sink  in  thusc  arms  that  point  his  bead  with  bliame  ! 


LOVE.    AN   ELEGY.  117 

There  wan  Dejection,  faltering  as  he  goes. 

In  shades  and  silence  vainly  seeks  repose. 

Musing  through  pathless  wilds,  consumes  the  day. 

Then  lost  in  darkness,  weeps  the  houis  away. 

Here  the  gay  crowd  of  Luxury  advance  ;  4 .5 

Some  touch  the  lyre,  and  others  urge  the  dance; 

On  every  head  the  rosy  garland  glows, 

I  n  every  hand  the  golden  goblet  flows ; 

The  Syren  views  them  with  exulting  eyes. 

And  laughs  at  bashful  Virtue  as  she  flies.  50 

But  see  behind,  where  Scoi'n  and  Want  appear, 

Th  e  grave  remonstrance  and  the  witty  sneer ; 

See  fell  Remorse,  in  action  prompt  to  dart 

Iler  snaky  poison  through  the  conscious  heart ! 

And  Sloth,  to  cancel,  with  oblivious  shame,  55 

The  fair  memorial  of  recording  Fame. 

Are  these  delights  that  one  would  wi.-h  to  gain  ? 
Is  this  the  Elysium  of  a  sober  brain  ? 
To  wait  for  happiness  in  female  smiles. 
Bear  all  her  scorn,  be  caught  with  all  her  wiles;         CO 
With  prayers,  with  bribes,  with  lies,  her  pity  crave. 
Bless  her  hard  bonds,  and  boast  to  be  her  slave ; 
To  feci  for  trifles  a  distracting  train 
Of  hopes  and  terrors  equally  in  vain  ; 
This  hour  to  tremble,  and  the  next  to  glow  ;  G5 

Can  Piidc,  can  Sense,  can  Reason,  stoop  so  low  ? 
When  Virtue  at  an  easier  price  displays 
The  sacred  wreaths  of  honourable  praise. 
When  Wisdom  utters  her  divine  decree. 
To  laugh  at  pompous  I-'oUy  and  be  free.  70 

I  bid  adi(U,  then,  to  those  woful  scenes; 
1  bid  qdieu  to  all  the  sex  of  queens; 


J'8  MISCELLANIES. 

Adieu  to  every  suffering,  simple  soul 

That  lets  a  woman's  will  his  ease  control. 

There  laugh,  ye  witty  !  and  rebuke,  ye  grave  !  75 

For  me,  I  scorn  to  boast  that  I'm  a  slave ; 

I  bid  the  whining  brotherhood  be  gone, 

Joy  to  my  heart !  my  wishes  are  my  own. 

Farewell  the  female  heaven,  the  female  hell. 

To  the  great  god  of  Love  a  glad  farewell.  80 

Is  this  the  triumph  of  thy  awful  name  ? 

Are  these  the  splendid  hopes  that  urged  thy  aim. 

When  first  my  bosom  own'd  thy  haughty  sway  ? 

When  thus  Minerva  heard  thee  boasting  say, 

"  Go  martial  Maid  !  elsewhere  Ihy  arts  employ,         85 

"  Nor  hope  to  shelter  that  devoted  boy  ; 

"  Go  teach  the  solemn  sons  of  Care  and  Age, 

"The  pensive  statesman  and  the  midnight  sage; 

"  The  young  with  me  must  other  lessons  prore  ; 

"  Youth  calls  for  Pleasure,  Pleasure  calls  for  Love  j    90 

"  Behold  his  heart  thy  grave  advice  disdains, 

"  Behold  I  bind  him  in  eternal  chains. 

Alas !  great  Love,  how  idle  was  the  boast ! 
Thy  chains  are  broken,  and  thy  lessons  lost; 
Thy  wilful  rage  has  tired  my  suffering  heart,  Q5 

And  passion,  reason,  forced  thee  to  depart. 

But  wherefore  dost  thou  linger  on  thy  way  ? 
Why  vainly  search  for  some  pretence  to  stay. 
When  crowds  of  vassals  court  thy  pleasing  yoke, 
And  countless  victims  bow  them  to  the  stroke  >         lOo 
Lo!  round  thy  shrine  a  thousand  youths  advance. 
Warm  with  the  gentle  ardours  of  romance  ; 
Each  longs  to  assert  thy  cause  with  feats  of  arms. 
And  make  the  world  confess  Dulcineu's  charms. 


LOVE.    AN  ELEGY.  UO 

Ten  thousand  girls,  with  flowery  chaplets  crown'd,  105 
To  groves  and  streams  thy  tender  triumph  sound; 
Each  bids  the  stream  in  murmurs  speak  her  flame. 
Each  calls  the  grove  to  sigh  her  shepherd's  name  : 
But,  if  thy  pride  such  easy  honours  scorn. 
If  nobler  trophies  must  thy  toil  adora,  110 

Behold  yon  flowery  antiquated  maid 
Bright  in  the  bloom  of  threescore  years  display'd  ; 
Her  shalt  thou  bind  in  thy  delightful  chains, 
And  thrill  with  gentle  pangs  her  wither'd  veins. 
Her  frosty  cheek  with  crimson  blushes  dye,  1 15 

With  dreams  of  rapture  melt  her  maudlin  eye. 
Turn  then  thy  labours  to  the  servile  crowd. 
Entice  the  wary  and  control  the  proud  ; 
Make  the  sad  miser  his  best  gains  forego. 
The  solemn  statesman  sigh  to  be  a  beau,  1 20 

The  bold  coquette  with  fondest  passion  burn. 
The  Bacchanalian  o'er  his  bottle  mourn  ; 
And  that  chief  glory  of  thy  power  maintain, 
"  To  poise  ambition  in  a  female  brain." 
Be  these  thy  triuniphs ;  but  no  more  presume  1  'JJ 

That  my  rebellious  heart  will  yield  thee  room  : 
I  know  thy  puny  force,  thy  simple  wiles, 
I  break  triumphant  through  thy  flimsy  toils  : 
I  sec  thy  dying  lamp's  last  languid  glow, 
Thy  arrows  blunted,  and  unbraced  thy  bow  ;    ,        1  Ju 
I  feel  diviner  fires  my  brea»t  inflame. 
To  active  science,  and  ingenuous  fame  : 
Resume  the  paths  my  earlie.-t  choice  began, 
And  lose,  with  pride,  the  lover  in  the  man.  1^1. 


120 


A   BRITISH   PHILIPPIC, 

OCCASIONED    BY  THE  INSULTS  OF    THE  SPANIARDS,    AND  THE 
PRESENT  PREPARATIONS  FOR  WAR,    1738. 

W  HENCE  this  unwonted  transport  in  my  breast  ? 
Why  glow  my  thoughts  ?  and  whither  would  the  Mus^ 
Aspire  with  rapid  wing?     Her  country's  cause 
Demands  her  effbr-ts  :  at  that  sacred  call 
She  summons  all  her  ardour,  throws  aside  5 

The  trembling  lyre,  and  with  the  warrior's  trump 
She  means  to  thunder  in  each  British  ear ; 
And  if  one  spark  of  honour  or  of  fame. 
Disdain  of  insult,  dread  of  infamy. 
One  thought  of  public  virtue,  yet  survive,  10 

She  means  to  wake  it,  rouse  the  generous  tlante. 
With  patriot  zeal  inspirit  every  breast. 
And  fire  each  British  heart  with  British  wrongs. 

Alas, — the  vain  attempt !     What  influence  now 
Can  the  Muse  boast?  or  what  attention  now  15 

Is  paid  to  fame  or  virtue  ?     Where  is  now 
The  British  spirit,  generous,  warm,  and  brave. 
So  frequent  wont  from  tyranny  and  woe 
To  free  the  suppliant  nations  ?     Where  indeed! 
If  that  protection,  once  to  strangers  given,  20 

Be  now  with-heid  from  sons?     Each  nobler  thought. 
That  vvarm'd  our  sires,  is  lost  and  buried  now 
In  luxury  and  avarice.     Baneful  vice  ! 
How  it  unmans  a  nation  !     Yet  Til  try, 
I'll  aim  to  shake  this  vile  degenerate  f-loth  ;  25 

I'll  dare  to  rouse  Britannia's  dreaming  sons 
To  fame,  to  virtue,  and  impart  around 


A  BRITISH   PHILIPPIC.  121 

A  generous  feeling  of  compatriot  woes. 

ComCj  then,  the  various  powers  of  forceful  speech. 
All  that  can  move,  awaken,  fire,  transport  i  30 

Come  the  bold  ardour  of  the  Theban  bard  ! 
The  arousing  thunder  of  the  patriot  Greek  ! 
The  soft  persuasion  of  the  Roman  sage  ! 
Come  all !  and  raise  me  to  an  equal  height, 
A  rapture  worthy  of  my  glorious  cause  !  35 

Lest  my  best  eflbrts  failing  should  debase 
The  sacred  theme  ;  for  with  no  common  wing 
The  Muse  attempts  to  soar.     Yet  what  need  these  ? 
INIy  country's  fame,  my  free-born  British  heart. 
Shall  be  my  best  inspirers,  raise  my  flight  40 

High  as  the  Theban's  pinion,  and  with  more 
'I'han  Creek  or  Roman  flame  exalt  my  soul. 
Oh  !  could  I  give  the  vast  ideas  birth. 
Expressive  of  the  thoughts  that  flame  within. 
No  more  should  lazy  luxury  detain  4j 

Our  ardent  youth  ;  no  mure  should  Britain's  sons 
Sit  tamely  passive  by,  and  careless  hear 
The  prayers,  sighs,  groans  (immortal  infamy  !) 
Of  fellow  Britons,  with  oppression  sunk,         ' 
In  bitterness  of  soul  demanding  aid,  50 

Calling  on  Britain,  their  dear  native  land. 
The  land  of  Liberty,  so  greatly  famed 
For  just  redress;  the  land  so  often  dyed 
With  her  l>est  blood,  for  that  arousing  cause 
The  freedom  of  her  sons  ;  those  sons  that  now,  55 

Far  from  the  manly  blessings  of  her  sway. 
Drag  the  vile  fetters  of  a  Spanish  lord. 
And  dare  they,  dare  the  vanquish'd  sons  of  Spain 
Enslave  a  Briton  ?     Have  they  then  forgot, 
LI* 


122  MISCELLANIES. 

So  soon  forgot,  the  great,  the  immortal  day,  60 

When  rescued  Sicily  with  joy  beheld 

The  swifl-wing'd  thunder  of  the  British  arm 

Disperse  their  navies  ?  when  their  coward  bands 

Fled,  like  the  raven  from  the  bird  of  Jove, 

From  swift  impending  vengeance  fled  in  vain  ?  05 

Are  these  our  lords  ?  and  can  Britannia  see 

Her  foes  oft  vanquish'd,  thus  defy  her  power, 

Ii»sult  her  standard,  and  enslave  her  sons. 

And  not  arise  to  justice?  Did  our  sires, 

Unawed  by  chains,  by  exile,  or  by  death,  70 

Preserve  inviolate  her  guardian  rights. 

To  Britons  ever  sacred,  that  their  sons 

flight  give  them  up  to  Spaniards  ?-^Turn  your  eyes, 

Turn  ye  degenerate  1   who  with  haughty  boast 

Call  yourselves  Britons,  to  that  dismal  gloom,  75 

That  dungeon  dajk  and  deep,  where  never  thought 

Of  joy  or  peace  can  enter;  see  the  gates 

Harsh-creaking  open  ;  what  an  hideous  void  ! 

Dark  as  the  yawning  grave  !  while  still  as  death 

A  frightful  silence  reigns  :  there  on  the  ground  80 

Behold  your  brethren  chain'd  like  beasts  of  prey ; 

There,  mark  your  numerous  glories  ;  there,  behold 

The  look  that  speiks  unutterable  woe; 

The  mangled  limb,  the  faint,  the  deathful  eye, 

With  famine  sunk,  the  deep  heart-bursting  groan       US 

Suppress'd  in  silence ;  view  the  loathsome  food 

Refused  by  dogs  ;  and,  oh  !  the  stinging  thought  I 

View  the  dark  Spaniard  gloryijig  in  their  wrongs  ; 

The  deadly  priest  triumphant  in  their  woes. 

And  thundering  worse  damnation  on  their  souls  :       90 

While  that  pale  f<>rm,  in  all  the  pangs  of  death. 


A   BRITISH    PHILIPPIC.  123 

Too  faint  to  speak,  yet  eloquent  of  all, 

Ilis  native  British  spirit  yet  untamed. 

Raises  his  head,  and  with  indignant  frowns. 

Of  great  dcHance  and  su{>erior  scorn,  9-5 

Looks  up  and  dies.— Oh  !  I  am  all  on  fire  ! 

I'ut  let  me  spare  the  theme,  lest  future  times     . 

Should  b!u>h  to  hear  that  either,  coiKjoer'd  Spain 

Durst  offer  Britain  such  outrageous  wrong. 

Or  Britain  tamely  bore  it—  100 

Descend,  ye  guardian  Heroes  of  the  land ! 

Scourges  of  Spain,  descend  !  behold  your  sons  j 

See  how  they  run  the  same  heroic  race ; 

How  prompt,  how  ardent  in  their  country's  cause. 

How  greatly  proud  to  assert  their  British  blood,       105 

And  in  their  deeds  reflect  their  fathers'  fame  ! 

Ah  !  would  to  heaven  ye  did  not  rather  see 

How  dead  to  virtue  in  the  public  cause. 

How  cold,  how  careless,  l>ow  to  glory  deaf. 

They  shame  your  laurels,  and  belye  their  birth  !      110 

Come  ye  great  spirits.  Cavendish,  Rawleigh,  Blake  ! 
And  ye  of  later  name,  your  country's  pride. 
Oh  come  !  disperse  these  lazy  fumes  of  sloth  ; 
Teach  British  hearts  with  British  fires  to  glow; 
la  wiikening  whis[iers  rouse  our  ardent  j'otith ;  1\3 

Blazon  the  triumphs  of  your  better  days  ; 
Paint  all  the  glorious  scenes  of  rightful  war 
In  all  its  splendors  ;  to  their  swelling  souls 
Say,  how  ye  bow'd  the  insulting  Spaniard's  pride  ; 
Say,  how  ye  thunder'd  o'er  their  prostrate  heads ;    1 20 
Say,  how  ye  broke  their  lines  and  iired  their  ports; 
Say,  how  not  death,  in  all  its  frightful  shapes. 
Could  damp  your  souls,  or  shake  the  great  resolve 


J2*  MISCELLANIES. 

For  Right  and  Britain  :  then  display  the  joys 
The  patriot's  soul  exalting,  while  he  views  I25 

Transported  millions  hail  with  loud  acclaim 
The  guardian  of  their  civil,  sacred  rights; 
How  greatly  welcome  to  the  virtuous  man 
Is  death  for  others'  good  !  the  radiant  thoughts 
That  beam  celestial  on  his  passing  soul,  130 

The  unfading  crowns  awaiting  him  above. 
The  exalting  plaudit  of  the  Great  Supreme, 
Who  in  his  actions  with  complacence  views 
Ilis  own  reflected  splendor ;  then  descend, 
Though  to  a  lower,  yet  a  nobler  scene  ;  135 

Paint  the  just  honours  to,  his  relics  paid. 
Shew  grateful  millions  weeping  o'er  his  grave. 
While  his  fair  fame  in  each  progressive  ao-e 
For  ever  brightens ;  and  the  wise  and  good 
Of  every  land  in  universal  choir  UO 

With  richest  incense  of  undying  praise 
His  urn  encircle ;  to  the  wondering  world 
His  numerous  triumphs  blazon ;  while  with  awe. 
With  filial  reverence,  in  his  steps  they  tread  j 
And  copying  every  virtue,  every  fame,  Ii5 

Transplant  his  glories  into  second  life. 
And  witii  unsparing  hand,  make  nations  blest 
r5y  his  example.     Vast  immense  rewards  ! 
For  all  the  turmoils  which  the  virtuous  mind 
lliicounters  here.    Yet,  Britons  !  are  ye  cold  ?  150 

Yet  deaf  to  glory,  virtue,  and  the  call 
Of  your  poor  injured  countrymen  ?  Ah!  no  : 
I  see  ye  are  not ;  every  bosom  glows 
With  native  greatness,  and  in  all  its  state 
The  British  spirit  rises.    Glorious  change !  155 


A   BRITISH    PHILIPPIC.  125 

Fame,  Virtue,  Freedom,  welcome  !  Oh  !  forgive 
The  Muse,  that,  ardent  in  her  sacred  cause. 
Your  glory  question'd  ;  she  beholds  with  joy. 
She  owns,  she  triumphs,  in  her  wish'd  mistake. 

See  from  her  sea-ljeat  throne,  in  awful  march,       lOO 
Britannia  towers  !  upon  her  laurel  crest 
The  plumes  majestic  nod  !  behold,  she  heares 
Her  guardian  shield,  and,  terrible  in  arms. 
Fur  battle  shakes  her  adamantine  spear; 
Loud  at  her  foot  the  Britisli  Lion  roars,  163 

Frighting  the  nations :  haughty  Sjiain  full  soon 
Shall  hear  and  tremble.  •  Go  then,  Britons,  forth. 
Your  country's  daring  champions;  tell  your  Jots, 
Tell  them  in  thunders  o'er  their  prostrate  land, 
You  were  not  lx)rn  for  slaves  :  let  all  your  deeds       170 
Shew  that  the  sons  of  those  immortal  men. 
The  stars  ol  shining  story,  are  not  slow 
In  virtue's  path  to  emulate  their  sires. 
To  assert  their  country's  rights,  avenge  her  sons, 
And  burl  the  bolts  of  Justice  on  her  foes.  ]  73 

T  HE    VI  E  T  U  O  S  O; 

IN   JMITATION  OF  SpENCKu's  SIYLi:   .\ND   STANZA. 

April  23,  MDCCXXXVIl. 

■ Vidcnms 

.   Nuguri  solitos.  Peicsils. 

VV  HILOM  by  silver  Thames'^  gentle  stream, 

In  London  town  there  dwelt  a  subtile  wight ; 
A  wight  of  mickle  wealth,  and  mickle  fame. 

Book-learn 'd  and  quaint ;  a  Vnncoso  hight. 
Uncuiuinon  tliing>s  and  rare  were  his  delight ; 
L  I  2 


12e  MISCELLANIES. 

From  musings  deep  his  brain  ne'er  gotten  ease. 
Nor  ceasen  he  from  study,  day  or  night ; 

Until  (advancing  onward  by  degrees) 
He  knevv  whatever  breeds  on  earth,  or  air,  or  seas.        0 

He  many  a  creature  did  anatomize. 

Almost  unpeopling  water,  air,  and  land  ; 
Beasts,  fishes,  birds,  snails,  caterpillars,  flies. 

Were  laid  full  low  by  his  relentless  hand. 
That  oft  with  gory  crimson  was  distain'd  : 

He  many  a  dog  destroy 'd,  and  many  a  cat ; 
Of  fleas  his  bed,  of  frogs  the  marshes  drain'd. 

Could  tellen  if  a  mite  were  lean  or  fat. 

And  read  a  lecture  o'er  the  entrails  of  a  gnat.  1 8 

He  knew  the  various  modes  of  ancient  times. 
Their  arts  and  fashions  of  each  different  guise  ; 

Their  weddings,  funerals,  punishments  for  crimes. 
Their  strength,  their  learning  eke,  and  rarities  j 

Of  old  habiliments,  each  sort  and  size, 

Male,  femaje,  high  and  low  to  him  were  known ; 

Each  gladiator-dress,  and  stage-disguise  ;  25 

With  learned  clerkly  phrase  he  could  have  shewn 
How  the  Greek  tunic  differ'd  from  the  Roman  gown. 

A  curious  medalist,  I  wot,  he  was. 

And  boasted  many  a  course  of  ancient  coin  ; 
Well  as  his  wife's  he  knewen  every  face. 

From  Julius  Casar  down  to  Constantine  : 
For  some  rare  sculpture  he  would  oft  ypine, 
(As  green-sick  damosels  for  husbands  do  j) 
And  when  obtained,  with  enraptured  eyne. 

He'd  run  it  o'er  and  o'er  with  greedy  view,  35 

And  look,  and  look  again,  as  he  would  look  it  thro'. 


TllE    VIRTUOSO.  127 

His  rich  musBcum,  of  dimensions  fair. 

With  goods  that  spoke  the  owner's  mind  was  fraught; 
Things  ancient,  curious,  value-worth,  and  rare, 

From  sea  and  land,  from  Greece  and  Rome  were  brought. 
Which  he  with  mighty  sums  of  gold  had  bought : 

On  these  all  tydes  with  joyous  eyes  he  pored  ; 
And,  sooth  to  say,  himself  he  greater  thought. 

When  he  beheld  his  cabinets  thus  stored,  41- 

Than  if  he'd  been  o{  Albion's  wealthy  cities  lord. 

Here  in  a  corner  stood  a  rich  'scrutoire. 

With  many  a  curiosity  replete ; 
In  seemly  order  furnish'd  every  drawer, 

Products  of  art  or  nature  as  was  meet; 
Air-pumps  and  prisms  were  placed  beneath  his  feet, 

A  Meniphian  mummy-king  hung  o'er  his  head  ; 
Here,  phials  with  live  insects  small  and  great. 

There,  stood  a  tripod  of  the  Pythian  maid  ; 

Above,  a  crocodile  diffused  a  grateful  shade.  54 

Fast  by  the  window  did  a  table  stand. 

Where  hodiern  and  antique  rareties. 
From  i^gypi,  Greece,  and  Rome,  from  sea  and  land. 

Were  thick  besprent  of  every  sort  and  size  : 
Here  a  Ba/iu/uan-fpldtT'o  carcase  lies. 

There  a  dire  f^erpent's  golden  skin  doth  shine  ; 
Here  Indian  feathers,  fruits,  and  glittering  flies; 

There  gums  and  amber  found  beneath  the  line, 

Tlie  beak  of  Ibis  here,  and  there  an  Antoninc.         G  > 

Close  at  his  back,  or  whispering  in  liis  car. 
There  stood  a  upright  jclepcd  rhantaxj/ ; 

Which,  wheresoe'er  he  went,  was  always  near  : 
Her  look  was  wild,  and  roving  was  her  eye  ; 


IQi  MISCELLANIES. 

Her  hair  was  clad  with  flowers  of  every  dye  ; 
Her  ghstering  robes  were  of  more  various  hue. 
Than  the  fair  bow  that  paints  the  cloudy  sky, 

Or  all  the  spangled  drops  of  morning  dew  ;  7 1 

Tlieir  colour  changing  still  at  every  diflcrent  view. 

Yet  in  this  shape  all  tydes  she  did  not  stay  ; 

Various  as  the  chamaelion  that  she  bore. 
Now  a  grand  monarch  with  a  crown  of  bay. 

Now  mendicant  in  silks,  and  golden  ore  : 
A  statesman,  now  equipp'd  to  chase  the  boar. 

Or  cowled  monk,  lean,  feeble,  and  unfed ; 
A  elown-like  lord,  or  swain  of  courtly  lore ; 

Now  scribbling(dunce  in  sacred  laurel  clad. 

Or  Papal-father  now,  in  homely  weeds  array 'd.      SI 

The  wight  whose  brain  this  Phanlo?7i's  power  doth  fill. 
On  whom  she  doth  with  constant  care  attend. 

Will  for  a  dreadful  giant  take  a  mill. 
Or  a  grand  palace  in  a  hog-stie  find  : 

(From  her  dire  influence  me  may  Heaven  defend  1) 
All  things  with  vitiated  sight  he  spies  ; 

Neglects  his  family,  forgets  his  friend. 
Seeks  painted  ti'ifles,  and  fantastic  toy?. 
And  eagerly  pursues  imaginary  joys.  90 


RrmaiJi.  This  was  probably  \\\sJl/\-t  poetic  flight,  and  will  be 
valued  as  a  proof  of  his  early  geiii'is;  it  was  addressed,  as  ah^ij  tlie 
next  poem,  to  the  Editor  of  the  "  Gentleman's  Matjazine,"  from 
whence  both  are  now  copied  :  this  was  accomjjanied  by  the  follow- 
ing note.  '*^ 

T  hope,  nr,  t/ou'll  e.rcuse  the  fvlloii'mg  l-ccm  (helng  the  pafvimance 
cf  one  in  his  sixteenth  year)  and  insert  it  in  yj'ti  next  r/tagurini', 
uhich  u;',ll  oblige 

yo'/r\  &:r.  MARCUS 

Newcastle  upon-Tyne,  April  25,  ITo". 


129 
THE    POET; 

A  RHAPSODY. 
July,  MDCCXXXVII. 

V/F  all  the  various  lots  around  the  ball, 
.  Which  Fate  to  man  distributes  absolute ;. 
Avert,  ye  Gods  !  that  of  the  Muse's  son. 
Cursed  with  dire  poverty  !  poor  hungry  wretch  ! 
What  shall  he  do  for  life  ?  he  cannot  work  5 

With  manual  labour:  shall  those  sacred  hands. 
That  brought  the  counsels  of  the  gods  to  light ; 
Shall  that  inspired  tongue,  which  every  Muse 
Has  touch 'd  divine,  to  charm  the  sons  of  men  : 
These  hallow 'd  organs  !  these!  l)e  prostitute  10 

To  the  vile  service  of  some  fool  in  power  ; 
All  his  behests  submissive  to  perform, 
Howe'er  to  him  ingrateful  ?  Oh  !  he  scorns 
The  ignoble  thought ;  with  generous  disdain. 
More  eligible  deeming  it  to  starve,  15 

Like  his  famed  ancestors  renown'd  in  verse. 
Than  poorly  bend  to  be  another's  slave, — 
Than  feed  and  fatten  in  obscurity. 
—These  are  his  firm  resolves,  which  fate  nor  time. 
Nor  poverty  can  sh:ike.     Exalted  high  20 

III  garret  vile  he  lives  ;  with  remnants  hung 
Of  tapestry:  But,  oh  !  precarious  state 
Of  this  vain  transient  world  !   all  powerful  time  ! 
What  do>t  thou  not  subdue  r  See  what  a  chasm 
Gapes  witle,  tremendous  !  see  where  Saul  enraged,    £5 
High  on  liis  throne,  cncompass'd  by  his  guards. 
With  levell'd  spear,  and  arm  extended  ^its, 
Ready  to  pierce  old  Jesse's  valiant  son. 
Spoil'd  of  his  nose  !•— around,  in  tottering  ranks. 


130  MISCELLANIES. 

On  shelves  pulverulent,  majestic  stands  30 

His  library  ;  in  ragged  plight,  and  old  ; 

Replete  with  many  a  load  of  criticism. 

Elaborate  products  of  the  midnight  toil 

Of  Belgian  brains  ;  snatch'd  from  the  deadly  hands 

Of  murderous  grocer;  or  the  careful  wight,  3b 

Who  vends  the  plant,  that  clads  the  happy  shore 

Of  Indian  Patomack  ;  which  citizens 

In  balmy  fumes  exhale,  when,  o'er  a  pot 

Of  sage-inspiring  coffee,  they  dispose 

Of  kings  and  crowns,  and  settle  Europe's  fate.  4-0 

Elsewhere,  the  dome  is  fill'd  with  various  heaps 
Of  old  domestic  lumber;  that  huge  chair 
Has  seen  six  monarchs  fill  the  British  throne  : 
Here,  a  broad  massy  table  stands,  o'erspread  44 

With  ink  and  pens,  and  scrolls  replete  with  rhyme  j 
Chests,  tools,  old  rasors,  fractured  jars  half  full 
Of  muddy  Zythufn,  sour  and  spiritless. 
Fragments  of  verse,  hose,  sandals,  utensils 
Of  various  fashion,  and  of  various  use. 
With  friendly  influence  hide  the  sable  floor.  iO 

This  is  the  bard's  musaeum,  this  the  fane 
To  Phahits  sacred,  and  the  Aonian  maids  : 
But  oh  !  it  stabs  his  heart,  that  niggard  fate 
To  him  in  such  small  measure  should  dispense 
Her  better  gifts  :  to  him  !  whose  generous  soul  55 

Could  relish,  with  as  fine  an  elegance. 
The  golden  joys  of  grandeur,  and  of  wealth  ; 
He  who  could  tyrannise  o'er  menial  slaves. 
Or  swell  beneath  a  coronet  of  state. 
Or  grace  a  gilded  chariot  with  a  mien,  60 

Grand  as  the  hauahtiest  Timon  of  them  all— 


THE  POET;   A    RHAPSODY.        131 

But  'tis  in  vain  to  rave  at  destiny  ; 
Here  lie  must  rest  and  brook  the  best  he  can. 
To  live  remote  from  grandeur,  Uaming,  wit ; 
I^nmured  amongst  the  ignoble,  vulgar  herd,  65 

Of  lowest  intellect,  whose  stupid  souls 
But  half  inform  their  bodies  ;  brains  of  lead 
And  tongues  of  thunder  :  whose  insensate  l>reasts 
Ne'er  felt  the  rapturous,  soul-entrancing  fire 
Of  the  coelestial  Muse  ;  whose  savage  ears  70 

Ne'er  heard  the  sacred  rules,  nor  even  tlie  names. 
Of  the  Venusian  ha.vd,  or  critic  sage 
Full-famed  of  Stugyra ;  whose  clamoi-ous  tongues 
Stun  the  tormented  ear  with  colloquy. 
Vociferate,  trivial,  or  impertinent ;  75 

Replete  with  boorisli  scandal  :  yet,  alas  ! 
This,  this !  he  must  endure,  or  muse  alone, 
Pensive  and  moping  o'er  the  stubborn  rhyme. 
Or  line  imperfect — No  I  the  door  is  free. 
And  calls  him  to  evade  their  deafening  clang,  SO 

I5y  private  ambulation  ;— 'tis  resolved  : 
OlFfrom  his  waist  he  throws  the  tatttr'd  gown. 
Beheld  with  indignation  ;  and  unloads 
His  pericranium  of  the  weighty  cap. 
With  sweat  and  grease  discolcur'd  :  then  explores     85 
Tlie  spacious  chest,  and  from  its  hollow  womb 
Draws  his  best  robe,  yet  not  from  tiiiclurc  free 
Of  age's  reverend  russet,  scant  and  bare  ; 
Then  down  his  meagre. visage  waving  flows 
The  shadowy  perruque  ;  crouu'd  with  gummy  hat    90 
Clean  brush'd;   a  cane  supports  him.     Thus  ecjuip'd 
He  sallies  forth  ;  swift  traverses  the  s-f reels. 
And  seeks  the  lonely  walk  ;  Uail  .i^'lvan  scenes, 


13e  MISCELLANIES. 

Ye  groves,  ye  valleys,  ye  meandering  brooks. 

Admit  me  to  your  joys,  in  rapturous  phrase,  !>iJ 

Loud  he  exclaims;  while  with  the  inspiring  Muse 

His  bosom  labours  ;  and  all  other  thoughts. 

Pleasure  and  wealthy  and  poverty  itself, 

Before  her  influence  vanish.     Rapt  in  thought. 

Fancy  presents  before  his  ravish 'd  eyes  100 

J3istant  posterity,  upon  his  page 

With  transport  dwelling ;  while  bright  learning's  sons 

That,  ages  hence,  must  tread  this  earthly  ball. 

Indignant  seem  to  curse  the  thankless  age. 

That  starved  such  merit.     Meantime  swallow'd  up 

Iti  meditation  deep,  he  wanders  en,  106 

Unweeting  of  his  way.— But  ah  !  he  starts  ! 

With  sudden  fright !  his  glaring  ej-e-balls  rdl> 

Pale  turn  his  cheeks,  and  shake  his  loosen'd  joints : 

His  cogitations  vanish  into  air,  1 10 

Like  painted  bubbles,  or  a  morning  dream. 

Behold  the  cause  !  see  !  through  the  opening  glade. 

With  rosy  visage,  and  abdomen  grand, 

A  cit, — a  dun  ! As  in  Apulia's  wilds. 

Or  where  the  Thrucian  Htbrus  rolls  his  wave,  1 15 

A  heedless  kid,  disportive,  roves  around. 

Unheeding,  till  upon  the  hideous  cave 

Of  the  dire  wolf  she  treads;  half  dead  she  views 

His  bloodshot  eye-balls,  and  his  dreadful  fang:., 

And  swift  as  Eiirus  from  the  monster  flies.  120 

So  fares  the  trembling  bard  ;  amazed  he  turns. 

Scarce  by  his  legs  upborn  ;  yet  fear  supplies 

The  place  of  strength;  straight  home  he  bends  his  course, 

Kor  looks  behind  him  till  he  safe  regain 

His  faithful  citadel ;  there  spent,  fatigued,  125 


THE    POET;  A   RHAPSODY.         133 

He  lays  him  down  to  ease  his  heaving  hings. 
Quaking  and  of  his  safety  scarce  convinced. 
Soon  as  the  Panick  leaves  his  panting  breast, 
Down  to  the  Muse's  sacred  rites  he  sits. 
Volumes  piled  round  him  ;  see  !  upon  his  brow       1 30 
Perplex'd  anxiety,  and  struggling  thought. 
Painful  as  female  throes  :  whether  the  bard 
Display  the  deeds  of  Heroes ;  or  the  fall 
Of  Vice,  in  lay  dramatic  ;  or  expand 
The  lyric  wing ;  or  in  elegiac  strains  135 

Lament  the  Fair ;  or  lash  the  stubborn  age. 
With  laughing  satire ;  or  in  rural  scenes 
With  shepherds  sport;  or  rack  his  hard-bound  brain* 
For  the  unexpected  turn.     Arachne  so. 
In  dusty  kitchen  corner,  from  her  bowels  140 

Spins  the  fine  web ;  but  spins  with  better  fate. 
Than  the  poor  bard :  she  !  caitiff!  spreads  her  snares, 
/Vnd  with  their  aid  enjoys  luxurious  life  ; 
Bloated  with  fat  of  insects,  flesh'd  in  blood  : 
He  !  hard,  hard  lot !   for  all  his  toil  and  care,  1 1* 

And  painful  vvatchings,  scarce  protracts  a  while 
His  meagre,  hungry  days  !  ungrateful  world  I 
If  with  his  drama  he  adorn  the  stage  ; 
No  worth-discerning  concourse  pays  the  charge. 
Or  of  the  orchestra,  or  the  enlightening  torch.  150 

He  who  supports  the  luxury  and  pride 
Of  craving  Lais  ;  he  !  whose  carnage  fills 
Dogs,  eagles,  lions  ;  has  not  yet  enough. 
Wherewith  to  satisfy  the  greedier  maw 
Of  that  most  ravenous,  that  devouring  beast,  155 

Yclcp'd  a  Poet.     What  new  Halifax, 
What  Somers,  or  what  Dorset  can'st  thou  find. 
Mm 


134  MISCELLANiES. 

Thou  hungry  mortal  ?  break,  wretch,  break  thy  quill. 

Blot  out  the  studied  image ;  to  the  flames 

Commit  the  Stagyrite;  leave  this  thankless  trade;    160        \ 

Erect  some  pedling  stall,  with  trinkets  stock'd,  ! 

There,  earn  thy  daily  half-pence,  nor  again 
Trust  the  false  Muse  :  so  shall  the  cleanly  meal 

Repel  intruding  hunger. Oh  !  'tis  vain. 

The  friendly  admonition's  all  in  vain  ;  165 

The  scribbling  itch  has  seized  him,  he  is  lost 
To  all  advice ;  and  starves  for  starving's  sake. 

Thus  sung  the  sportful  Muse,  in  mirthful  mood. 
Indulging  gay  the  frolic  vein  of  youth; 
But  oh  !  ye  Gods,  avert  the  impending  stroke,  170 

This  luckless  omen  threatens !  hark  !  methinks, 
1  hear  my  better  angel  cry.  Retreat, 
Rash  youth  !  in  time  retreat !  let  those  peor  Bards, 
Who  slighted  all,  all  >  for  the Jlattering  Bluse,  \ 

Yet  cursed  v:ith  pining  xvant,  as  land-?nark$  stand,      175 
To  zvarn  theefrotn  the  service  of  the  rngrate. 


TO    CORDELIA. 
July,  MDCCXL. 

r  ROM  pompous  life's  dull  masquerade. 

From  pride's  pursuits,  and  passion's  war. 

Far,  my  Cordelia,  very  far  ! 
To  thee  and  me  may  Heaven  assign. 
The  silent  pleasures  of  the  shade. 
The  joys  of  peace,  unenvied,  though  divine.  6 

Safe  in  the  calm  embowering  grove. 

As  thy  own  lovely  brow  serene  ; 

Behold  the  world's  fantastic  scene  ! 
What  low  pursuits  employ  the  great. 
What  tinsel  things  their  wishes  move. 
The  forms  of  Fashion,  and  the  toys  of  State,        1 2 
In  vain  are  all  Contentment's  charms. 

Her  placid  mien,  her  cheerful  eye. 

For  look,  Cordelia,  how  they  fly  ! 
Allured  by  Power,  Applause,  or  Gain, 
They  fly  her  kind  protecting  arms  ; 
Ah,  blind  to  pleasure,  and  in  love  with  pain  !     1 8 
Turn  and  indulge  a  fairer  view. 

Smile  on  the  joys  which  here  conspire; 

O  joys  harmonious  as  my  lyre  ! 
O  prospect  of  inchanting  things. 
As  ever  slumbering  Poet  kiiew  23 

When  Love  and  Fancy  wrapt  him  in  their  wings  ! 
Here,  no  rude  storm  of  passion  blows. 

But  sports,  and  smiles,  and  virtues  play, 

Cheer'd  by  affection's  purest  ray  ; 
The  air  still  breathes  contentment's  balm. 
And  the  clear  stream  of  pleasure  flows 
For  ever  active,  yet  for  ever  calm.  30 


136  MISCELLANIES. 

A    S  O  N  G 

X  HE  shape  alone  let  others  prize, 

'The  features  of  the  fair; 
1  look  for  spirit  in  her  eyes. 

And  meaning  in  her  air.  4 

A  damask  Cheek,  and  ivory  Arm, 

Shall  ne'er  my  wishes  win. 
Give  me  an  animated  form, 

Tbat  speaks  a  mind  within.  8 

A  face  where  awful  Honour  shines. 
Where  sense  and  sweetness  move. 

And  angel  innocence  refines. 

The  tenderness  of  Love.  12 

These  ai-e  the  soul  of  Beauty's  frame. 

Without  whose  vital  aid, 
Unfinish'd  all  her  features  seem. 

And  all  her  roses  dead.  16 

But  ah  I  *  where  both  their  charms  unite. 

How  perfect  is  the  view. 
With  every  image  of  delight. 

With  graces  ever  new.  20 

Of  power  to  charm  the  greatest  woe. 

The  wildest  rage  control. 
Diffusing  mildness  o'er  the  brow. 

And  rapture  through  the  soul.  24 

Their  power  but  faintly  to  express. 

All  language  must  despair. 
But  go  behold  Arpusia's  face. 

And  read  it  perfect  there.  28 

*  Pk'isuies  vf  the  Imagination,  Book  I,  line  362. 


137 


INSCRIPTIONS. 


FOR   A   GROTTO. 

1  O  me,  whom  in  their  lays  the  shepherds  call 
Actiiia,  dau<Thter  of  the  neighbouring-  stream. 
This  cave  belongs.     The  fig-tree  and  the  vine. 
Which  o'er  the  rocky  entrance  downward  shoot. 
Were  placed  by  Glycon.     He  with  cowslips  pale,        5 
Primsose,  and  purple  lychnis,  deck'd  the  green 
Before  my  threshold,  and  my  shelving  walls 
With  honeysuckle  cover'd.     Here  at  noon, 
Lull'd  by  the  murmur  of  my  rising  fount, 
I  slumbtr  :  here  my  clustering  fruits  I  tend  :  10 

Or  from  the  humid  flowers,  at  break  of  day. 
Fresh  garlands  weave,  and  chace  from  all  my  bounds 
Fach  thing  impure  or  noxious.     Enter  in, 
O  stranger,  undismay'd.     Mor  bat,  nor  toad 
Here  lurks  :  and  if  thy  breast  of  blameless  thoughts  15 
Approve  thee,  not  unwelcome  shalt  thou  tread 
|(Iy  quiet  mansion  :  chiefly,  if  thy  name 
Wise  Pallas  and  the  immortal  muses  own. 

II. 

FOR  A  STATUE  OF  CHAUCER, 
AT  WOODSTOCK. 

oUClI  was  old  CHAUCER,  such  the  placid  mien 
Of  him  who  first  with  harmony  inform 'd 
Til'.'  'a:""  Miai''  nfo'''.'  r'/'if--.     II'  r"  hv  (V.wlt. 


138  INSCRIPTIONS. 

For  many  a  cheerful  day.    These  ancient  walls 

Have  often  heard  hiui,  while  his  legends  blithe  .         5 

He  sang;  of  love,  or  knighthood,  or  the  wiles 

Of  iiomely  life  :  through  each  estate  and  age. 

The  fashions  and  the  follies  of  the  world 

With  cunning  hand  portraying.     Though  per  chance 

From  Blenheim's  towers,  O  stranger,  thou  art  come  10 

Glowing  with  Churchill's  trophies  j  yet  in  vain 

Dost  thou  applaud  them,  if  thy  breast  be  cold 

To  him,  this  other  hero ;  who,  in  times 

Dark  and  untaught,  began  with  charming  verse 

To  tame  the  rudeness  of  his  native  land.  15 

III. 

Whoe'er  thou  art  whose  path  in  summer  lies 

Through  yonder  village,  turn  thee  where  the  grove 

Of  branching  oaks  a  rural  palace  old 

Imbosoms.    There  dwells  Albert,  generous  lord 

Of  all  the  harvest  round.     And  onward  thence  5 

A  low  plain  chapel  fronts  the  morning  light 

Fast  by  a  silent  rivulet.     Humbly  walk, 

O  stranger,  o'er  the  consecrated  ground ; 

And  on  that  verdant  hilloc,  which  thou  see'st 

Beset  with  osiers,  let  thy  pious  hand  10 

Sprinkle  fresh  water  from  the  brook  and  strew 

Sweet-smelling  flowers.     For  there  doth  Edmund  rest. 

The  learned  shepherd  ;  for  each  rural  art 

Famed,  and  for  songs  harmonious,  and  the  woes 

Of  ill-requited  love.     The  faithless  pride  Ij 

Of  fair  Matilda  sank  him  to  the  grave 

In  manhood's  prime.     But  soon  did  righteous  Heaven 

With  tears,  with  sharp  remorse,  and  pining  care. 


INSCRIPTIONS.  139 

Avenge  her  falshood.     Nor  could  all  the  gold 

And  nuptial  pomp,  which  lured  her  plighted  faith 

Fronn  Edmund  to  a  loftier  husband's  home>  21 

Relieve  her  breaking  heart,  or  turn  aside 

The  strokes  of  death.     Go,  traveller;  relate 

The  mournful  story.     Haply  some  fair  maid 

May  hold  it  in  remembrance,  and  be  taught 

That  riches  cannot  pay  for  truth  or  love.  26 

IV. 
FOR   SHAKESPEARE'S   MONUMENT. 

O  YOUTHS  and  virgins  :   O  declining  eld  : 

O  pale  misfortune's  slaves  :  O  ye  who  dwell 

Unknown  with  humble  quiet;  ye  who  wait 

In  courts;  or  fill  the  golden  seat  of  kings  : 

O  sons  of  SPORT  and  pleasure  :  O  thou  wretch  5 

That  weep'st  for  jealous  love  ;  or  the  sore  wounds 

Of  CONSCIOUS  GUILT ;  Or  death's  rapacious  hand 

Which  left  thee  void  of  hope  :  O  ye  who  roam 

In  exile  ;  ye  who  through  the  embattled  field 

Seek  bright  renown;  or  who  for  nobler  palms  10 

Contend,  the  leaders  of  a  public  cause  ; 

Approach  :  behold  this  marble.     Know  ye  not 

The  features  ?  Hath  not  oft  his  faithful  tongue 

Told  you  the  fashion  of  your  own  estate, 

The  secrets  of  your  bosom?  Here  then,  round  ].5 

His  MONUMENT  with  reverencc  while  ye  stand. 

Say  to  each  other  :  "  This  was  SIIAKKSPMAllE'S  form  ; 

"  Who  walk'd  in  every  path  of  human  life, 

"  Felt  every  Passion  ;   and  to  all  mankind 

"  Doth  now,  will  ever,  that  experience  yield  20 

"  Which  his  own  genius  only  could  acquire." 


140  INSCRIPTIONS. 

V. 

GVLIELINIVS  III.  FORTIS,  PIVS,  LIBERATOR,  CVM 
INEVNTE  AETATE  PATRIAE  LABENTI  ADFV- 
ISSET  SALVS  IPSEVNICA;  CVM  MOX  ITIDEM 
REIPVBLICAE  BRITANNICAE  VINDEX  REiNVN- 
CIATVS  ESSET  ATQVE  STATOR ;  TVM  DENI- 
QVE  AD  ID  SE  NATVM  RECOGNOVIT  ET  REGEM 
FACTVM,VT  CVRARET  NE  DOMINO  IMPOTEN- 
TI  CEDERENT  PAX,  FIDES,  FORTVNA,  GENE- 
RIS HVMANI.  AVCTORI  PVBLICAE  FELICITA- 
TIS*P.  G.  A.  M.  A. 

VI. 
FOR  A  COLUMN  A.T  RUNNYMEDE. 

X  HOU,  who  the  verdant  plain  dost  traverse  here. 
While  Thames  among  his  willows  from  thy  view 
Retires ;  O  stranger,  stay  thee,  and  the  scene 
Around  contemplate  well.     This  is  the  place 
Where  England's  ancient  barons,  clad  in  arms  5 

And  stern  with  conquest,  from  their  tyrant  king 
(Then  render'd  tame)  did  challenge  and  secure 
The  charter  of  thy  freedom.     Pass  not  on 
Till  thou  hast  bless'd  their  memory,  and  paid 
Those  thanks  which  God  appointed  the  reward  19 

Of  public  virtue.     And  if  chance  thy  home 
Salute  thee  with  a  father's  honour'd  name. 
Go,  call  thy  sons  :  instruct  them  what  a  debt 
They  owe  their  ancestors  ;  and  make  them  swear 
To  pay  it,  by  transmitting  down  intire 
Those  sacred  rights  to  which  themselves  were  born.    16 

*  POSUIT  GRATUS  ANGIAS  MaHCIS  AkINSIDF..  ' 


INSCRIPTIONS.  HI 

VII. 
THE   WOOD    NYMPH. 

Approach  in  silence,     'tis  no  vulgar  tale 
Which  I,  the  Dryad  of  this  hoary  oak. 
Pronounce  to  mortal  ears.     The  second  age 
Now  hasteneth  to  its  period,  since  I  rose 
On  this  fair  lawn.     The  groves  of  yonder  vale  5 

Are,  all,  my  oilspring '.  and  each  Nymph,  who  guards 
The  copses  and  the  furrow'd  fields  beyond. 
Obeys  me.     Many  changes  have  I  seen 
In  human  things  ;  and  many  awful-  deeds 
Of  justice,  when  the  ruling  hand  of  Jove  10 

Against  the  tyrants  of  the  land,  against 
The  unhallow'd  sons  of  luxury  and  guile. 
Was  arm'd  for  retribution.     Thus  at  length 
Expert  in  laws  divine,  I  know  the  paths 
Of  wisdom  ;  and  erroneous  folly's  end  15 

Have  oft  presaged  :  and  now  well-pleased  I  wait 
Each  evening  till  a  noble  youth,  who  loves 
"My  shade,  awhile  released  from  public  cares. 
Yon  peaceful  gate  shall  enter,  and  sit  down 
Beneath  my  branches.     Then  his  musing  mind  20 

I  prompt,  unseen  ;  and  place  before  his  view 
Sincerest  forms  of  Good;  and  move  his  heart 
With  the  dread  bounties  of  the  sire  supreme 
Of  gods  and  men,  with  freedom's  generous  deeds. 
The  lofty  voice  of  glory  and  the  faith  25 

Of  sacred  friendship.     Stranger,  I  have  told 
My  function.     If  within  thy  bosom  dwell 
Aught  which  may  challenge  praise,  thou  wilt  not  leave 
X'^nhonour'd  my  abode,  nor  shall  I  hear 
A  sparing  benediction  from  thy  tongue.  30 


142  INSCRIPTIONS 

VIII. 

X  E  POWERS  UNSEEN,  to  whoiT),  the  bards  of  Grc€ce 
Erected  altars  j  ye  who  to  the  mind 
More  lofty  views  unfold,  and  prompt  the  heart 
With  more  divine  emotions;  if  erewhile 
Not  quite  unpleasing  have  my  votive  rites  5 

Of  you  been  deem'd,  when  oft  this  lonely  seat 
To  you  I  consecrated ;  then  vouchsafe 
Here  with  your  instant  energy  to  crown 
My  happy  solitude;     It  is  the  hour 
When  most  I  love  to  invoke  you,  and  have  felt  10 

Most  frequent  your  glad  ministry  divine. 
The  air  is  calm  :  the  sun's  unveiled  orb 
Shines  in  the  middle  heaven.     The  harvest  round 
Stands  quiet,  and  among  the  golden  sheaves 
The  reapers  lie  reclined.     The  neighbouring  groves  15 
Are  mute ;  nor  even  a  linnet's  random  strain 
Echotth  amid  the  silence.     Let  me  feel 
Your  influence,  ye  kind  powers.     Aloft  in  heaveri. 
Abide  ye  ?  or  on  those  transparent  clouds 
Pass  ye  from  hill  to  hill  ?  or  on  the  shades  20 

Which  yonder  elms  cast  o'er  the  lake  below 
Do  you  converse  retired  ?  f>om  what  loved  haunt 
Shall  I  expect  you  ?  Let  me  once  more  feel 
Your  influence,  O  ye  kind  inspiring  powers  : 
And  I  will  guard  it  well ;  nor  shall  a  thought  25 

Rise  in  my  mind,  nor  shall  a  passion  move 
Across  my  bosom  unobserved,  unstored 
By  faithful  memory.     And  then  at  some 

More  active  moment,  will  I  call  them  forth 


INSCRIPTIONS.  143 

Anew ;  and  join  them  in  majestic  forms,  30 

And  g^ve  them  utterance  in  harmonious  strains; 
That  all  mankind  shall  wonder  at  your  sway. 

IX. 

IVlE  though  in  life's  sequester'd  vale 

The  Almighty  Sire  ordain'd  to  dwell. 

Remote  from  Glory's  toilsome  ways. 

And  the  great  scenes  of  public  praise ; 

Yet  let  me  still  with  grateful  pride  5 

Remember  how  my  infant  frame 

He  temper'd  with  prophetic  flame. 

And  early  music  to  my  tongue  supplied. 

'Twas  then  my  future  fate  he  weigh'd. 

And  this  be  thy  concern  he  said,  10 

At  once  with  Passion's  keen  alarms. 

And  Beauty's  pleasurable  charms. 

And  sacred  Truth's  eternal  light, 

To  move  the  various  mind  of  Man  ; 

Till  under  one  unblemish'd  plan. 

His  Reason,  Fancy,  and  his  Heart  unite,  ir» 


END   OF  THE   POEMS. 


ESSAYS. 

ON  CORRECTNESS. 
April  MCCXLVI. 

In  conversations  that  turn  upon  the  state  of  polite 
learning  among  the  several  nations  of  Europe,  one  hears 
nothing  so  frequently  as  complaints  of  the  Incorrectness 
of  our  English  authors.  And  of  all  our  neighbours,  the 
French  are  universally  acknowledged  our  superiors"  in 
this  respect,  to  the  highest  degree.  I  have  seldom 
dared  to  oppose  so  general  a  decision,  among  men  of 
taste ;  though  it  is  to  be  wished  they  would  tell  us  the 
precise  meaning  of  the  word  Correctness ;  for  till  that 
be  done,  a  true-born  Englishman  may  fairly  refuse  his 
vote,  and  stand  up  for  the  honour  of  old  England  in 
tliis  particular,  against  a  nation  which  his  wiser  proge- 
nitors were  not  wont  to  look  upon  as  their  superior. 

'Twill  be  allowed,  I  believe,  that  an  author  is  cor- 
rect, in  proportion  as  he  avoids  those  blemishes  which 
are  most  repugnant  to  the  perfection  of  his  particular 
species  of  writing.  But  the  several  species  of  writing 
are  themselves  very  greatly  to  be  distinguis^hed,  in  point 
of  eminence  and  dignity.  He  is  a  strange  critic  who 
thinks  a  Sonnet  or  INIadrigal  as  much  to  be  regarded  as 
a  Tragedy,  or  who  talks  as  .seriously  of  an  Eclof^ue  to 
Lis,  as  of  an  Epic  Potm.  It  .>-hould  seem  then,  that  the 
comparative  Correctness  of  iw^f'/t/j  and  French  authors 
N  n 


J*6  E  S  S  A  Y    I. 

in  general,  is  proportionable  to  their  comparative  de- 
grees of  perfection  in  the  highest  kinds  of  composition. 

I  was  expressing  myself  in  this  manner,  before  a  cer- 
tain  company,  when  Pollio  interrupted  me.  Pollio  has 
a  nice  taste  rather  than  a  good  one.  I  see,  said  he, 
whither  you  are  going.  You  would  entitle  England  to 
more  Correctness  than  France,  because  Epic  Poetry  i» 
the  highest  species  of  composition,  and  the  French  have 
no  Epic  Poet  so  perfect  as  Milton.  But  remember  that 
Correctness  consists  in  being  free  from  blemishes,  and 
then  even  this  point  will  be  denied  you.  What  think 
you  of  the  Henrlade  ?  Did  you  ever  there  meet  with 
blemishes  so  shocking  as  in  the  Paradise  Lost  ? 

For  my  part,  said  I,  the  greatest  and  most  shockmg 
blemish  of  any  poem  seems  to  me  to  be  the  want  of 
such  beauties  as  are  most  characteristic  and  essential  to 
its  kind.  And  in  this  light,  Voltaire  s  "  Pretty  Thing"  is 
full  of  the  most  incorrigible,  unpardonable  blemishes. 
/  sing  that  Hero  tcho  reign'd  in  France,  both  by  right  of 
birth,  and  by  right  oj  conquest.  Is  this  the  exordium  of  an 
Epic  Poem,  or  of  an  engrossed  Parchment  ?    J  should 
not  have  laid  hold  of  so  minute  a  point,  had  the  <yeneral 
style  and  manner  of  the  poem  deserved  more  indul- 
gence.    I  allow  it  to  be  very  prettily,  if  you  will,  to  be 
finely  written.     Many  of  the  descriptions  are  elegant; 
many  of  the  characters  are  well  drawn.     But  an  Epic 
Poem  requires,  not  fne  writing,  but  a  simplicity  and 
dignity  of  expression  that  disdains  to  \\e,xv  finer  clothes 
than  that  Nature  which  it  represents.     An  Epic  Poem 
requires,  not  elegant  descriptions  of  objects,  but  the 
action,  the  reality  of  objects ;  the  parts  w  hich  they  play 
in  nature,  not  the  appearances  they  make  to  tlje  Poet's 


ON    CORRECTNESS.  147 

reflex  attention.  To  draw  direct  characters  of  persons, 
is  the  work  of  an  Historian ;  tlie  Epic  Poet  should  set 
them  before  your  eyes,  and  bid  their  actions  and  their 
h)oks  tell  you  their  characters.  In  short,  I  esteem  the 
llenriade  as  in  the  same  class  of  poetry  with  Dri/dens 
Fables,  and  there  it  gives  me  pleasure.  But  if  you  pro- 
duce it  as  an  Epic  Poem,  it  is  to  me  an  unanswerable 
proof,  that  the  French  taste  in  Epic  Poetry  is  extremely 
incorrect  and  barbarous. 

The  genius  of  their  language,  replied  Pollio,  is  per- 
haps an  unsurmountable  obstacle  to  their  attaining  the 
utmost  heights  of  the  Epic  species.  Tragedy  is  the 
next  in  dignity,  and  there  1  am  sure  you  must  allow 
their  superior  Correctness  and  purer  taste.  To  oppose 
the  irregular  starts  and  sallies  of  the  English  drama  to 
the  unity,  truth,  and  just  oeconomy  of  the  French,  is  to 
prefer  the  vast  heaps  of  rock  in  a  quairy,  or  craggy 
shore,  to  the  proportions  of  a  beautiful  temple  or  theatre. 

To  Unity  and  Truth,  said  I,  in  works  of  Art,  I  am  as 
warmly  attached  as  any  man.  But  as  Tragic  Poetry  is 
multiform  and  various,  so  one  part  of  it  may  be  cou- 
fitructed  according  to  the  laws  of  Unity  and  Truth, 
while  another  perhaps  directly  contradicts  them. 
There  is  a  Unity  of  Fable,  in  which  it  may  be  allowed 
the  French  greatly  exceed  us.  But  in  my  opinion,  the 
Unity  of  Character  is  prior  in  dignity ;  and  there,  I 
think,  we  as  greatly  exceed  them.  I  am  not  accusing 
the  French  tragedians  of  inconsistence,  or  poetical  false- 
hood in  their  characters ;  but  I  say  their  characters  are 
not  always  capable  of  inconsistence  :  I  mean  they  are 
often  so  vague  and  undetermined,  that  you  hardly 
know  what  they  should  say,  or  what  they  should  not. 


148  E  S  S  A  Y     I. 

Compare  them  in  this  respect  with  our  English  poet?, 
with  Shakespeare  especially,  and 

You  are  still,  interrupted  my  friend,  for  shifting  the 
question.  We  are  disputing  about  the  comparative- 
Purity  and  Correctness  of  the  French  and  English  wri- 
ters; not  about  their  comparative  genius  or  natural 
talents.  The  Unity  of  Character  in  Shakespeare,  and 
his  vast  insight  into  human  passions,  I  dare  not  call  in 
tjuestion  ;  I  know  the  good  company  would  exclaim 
against  me,  should  I  but  mention  a  competitor  with  him 
in  that  particular.  But  this  is  wholly  the  energy  of  nat- 
ural genius,  and  in  no  degree  an  argument  of  Correct- 
ness. Correctness  always  supposes  reflection,  and  an 
industrious  enquiry  by  what  culture  you  can  best  ren- 
<ler  your  work  perfect. 

Be  it  so,  said  I ;  I  am  highly  obliged  to  you,  Pollio, 
for  the  observation.  If  then  to  be  correct,  supposes  de- 
liberation and  industry,  'tis  evident  that  an  author  who 
applies  his  industry  to  the  most  important  parts  of  his 
work,  is  more  correct  than  another  who  rather  attends 
to  the  minute  and  trivial.  For  nothing  can  be  a  clearer 
proof  of  incorrectness  and  want  of  taste,  than  to  neglect 
the  chief  beauties  of  your  art  for  the  sake  of  partial  and 
childish  refinements.  In  the  general  ceconoray  of  their 
fable,  in  the  mechanical  connection  of  their  scenes,  and 
in  the  temperance  of  poetical  diiicourse,  the  French  are 
allowed  to  be  evidently  our  superiors.  But  are  there 
no  points  of  as  great  consequence  in  dramatic  poetry, 
wltere  we  can  retort  the  charge  of  barbarism  and  an  un- 
finished taste?  What  think  you  of  the  versification, 
the  rhyme  of  their  tragedies  ?  Is  that  an  instance  either 
of  a  correct  musical  ear,  or  of  good  judgment  in  the 


ON   CORRECTNESS.  149 

Verisimilitude  of  imitation,  one  of  the  chief  articles  of 
established  and  authentic  criticism  ?     What  think  you 
of  those  lon^  declamatory  speeches  so  frequent  in  their 
Tragic  Poets  r    where  the  Poet  forgets  he  is  imitating, 
and  says  pompous  things  in  his  proper  person,  where 
he  ought  to  say  only  natural  things  and  suitable  to  the 
condition  of  his  actor : — a  sure  proof  of  a  young,  raw 
judgment,  both  in  the  Poet  who  writes  so,  and  in  the 
Audience  who  suft'ers  him  !    And  accordingly,  both  in 
the  Grecian  theatre  and  in  the  English,   we  find  this 
theconstant  practice  of  their  earliest  writers,  and  gra- 
dually wearing  olF  as  the  national  taste  grew  mature  ; 
just  as  in  the  last  century,  rhyme  was  the  mode  in  tra- 
gedy for  a  while,  till  our  countrymen  approached  to  a 
more  manly  judgement,  and  then  even  Dtyden  was 
ashamed  to  patronize  it,  though  supported  by  French 
Correcluess  and  the  authority  of  Corneille  and  Racine. 
But  their  most  flagrant  ill  ta<te  and  crudeness  of  imi- 
tation appears  in  the  frenchijied  air  of  all  their  drama- 
tic personages.    Let  the  scene  be  India,  Constantinople, 
or  ancient  Rome,  the  Poet  always  composes  in  Paris. 
The  prettiness  of  French  manners  is  al>ove  conforming 
to  the  custom  of  the  country,  but  converts  a  turban,  a 
wreath  of  feathers,  or  w<x>llen  Toga,   into  the  toupee, 
the  solitaire,  and  brocade  in  fashion.     Thii^  is   mere 
want  of  CorrectnesH  and  true  taste ;  and  shocks  one  at 
least  as  much  as  any   Flemish   or    Venetian   picture, 
where  a  Jcivish  or   Grecian  subject  is  reprc'iented  in 
ruffs  and  whiskers,  in  S-wiss  hats  and  Spanish  breeches. 
An  instance  of  unskilfulness  and  barbnrism,  far  beyond 
the  broken  scenes  and  frequent  change  of  place  on  tl;e 
English  theatre  :  these  indeed  shew  a  deficiency  or  ne- 
N  n  2 


150  E  S  S  A  Y    I. 

gleet  of  mechanical  contrivance,  but  the  other  strikes  at 
the  truth,  beauty  and  utility  of  poetic  imitation  ia  its 
most  essential  part. 

It  wer§  easy  to  produce  instances  of  a  very  incorrect 
taste  among  the  French  even  in  little  things,  as  well  as 
in  these  more  important  points  of  criticism.  Were  I  a 
Frenchman,  concerned  for  the  poetical  glory  of  my 
country,  I  should  lament  its  unmusical  language,  and 
the  imposibility  of  forming  it  to  numbers  or  harmony. 
The  French  Ode  is  an  uncei'tain  mixture  of  different 
feet,  changing  at  random  the  rhythmus  or  movement  of 
the  verse,  and  disappointing  one's  ear,  just  as  if  a  dan- 
cer in  the  midst  of  a  minuet  should  fall  a  capering  in 
the  harlequin  step,  or  break  out  into  a  Lancashire  horn- 
pipe. Their  Alexandrine  measure,  which  they  call 
heroic,  has  its  pause  or  caesura  in  every  line  at  the 
same  place ;  so  that  two  hammers  on  a  smith's  anvil 
make  just  as  much  music  as  Raoine  or  Boileau.  If  this 
be  without  remedy  in  the  French  language,  their  lan- 
guage is  very  unfortunate  for  poetry ;  but  is  it  not  di- 
verting to  hear  these  finished  critics  and  masters  of 
Correctness  valuing  themselves  upon  this  wretched,  un- 
musical poverty  in  their  verse,  and  blaming  the  licen- 
tiousness of  English  poetry,  because  it  allows  a  variation 
of  the  pause,  and  a  suspension  of  the  period  from  one 
verse  into  any  part  of  another  ?  without  which  poetry- 
has  less  harmony  than  prose. 

It  is  hard  to  conceive  by  what  means  the  French  ac- 
quired this  character  of  superior  Correctness.  We  have 
classic  authors  in  English,  older  than  in  any  modern 
language,  except  the  Italian ;  and  Spencer  and  Sidney 
wrote  with  the  truest  taste,  when  the  French  had  not 


ON    CORRECTNESS.  151 

one  great  Poet  they  can  bear  to  read.  Milton  and 
Chapdain  were  contemporaries  :  the  Pucelle  and  Para- 
dise Lost  were  in  hand  perhaps  frequently  at  the  self- 
same hour.  One  of  them  was  executed  in  such  a  man- 
ner, that  an  Athenian  of  Menander's  age  would  have 
.turned  his  eyes  from  the  Minerva  of  Phidias,  or  the 
Venus  of  Apelles,  to  obtain  more  perfect  conceptions  of 
Beauty  from  the  English  Poet ;  the  other,  though  fost- 
ered by  the  French  court  for  twenty  years  with  the  ut- 
most indulgence,  does  honour  to  the  Leonine  and  the  Ru- 
nic poetry.  It  was  too  great  an  attention  to  French  criti- 
cism, that  hindered  our  Poets  in  Charles  Il's  time  from 
comprehending  the  genius,  and  acknowledging  the  au- 
thority of  Milton;  else,  without  looking  abroad,  they 
might  have  acquired  a  manner  more  correct  dinA  perfect, 
than  French  authors  could  or  can  teach  them.  In 
short,  unless  Correctness  signify  a  freedom  from  little 
faults,  without  inquiring  after  the  most  essential  beau- 
ties, it  scarce  appears  on  what  foundation  the  French 
claim  to  that  character  is  established. 


THE  TABLE  OF  MODERN  FAME. 

A    VISION. 

September,  MDCCXLVI. 

i-<AST  night  after  leaving  the  company  where  I  had 
spent  the  evening,  I  took  up  a  volume  of  the  Tatler  to 
conclude  the  day.  I  liap|)ened  to  light  on  that  admir- 
ed paper,  where  the  mo>t  celebraLcd  per>oiia^c!i  of  an- 
tiquity are  represented  at  the   Table  of  Fume.    1  was 


152  E  S  S  A  Y    II. 

very  agreeably  amused  with  the  venerable  assembly, 
and  the  pleasing  inanner  in  which  they  are  introduced; 
till  I  had  formed  my  own  mind  to  that  composure  and 
stilness,  which  is  the  best  preparative  to  a  happy  repose. 
As  soon  as  I  fell  asleep,  raethought  I  was  walking  in  an 
immense  plain,  where  I  met  a  Figure  of  great  dignity, 
representing  a  man  in  the  full  vigour  of  his  age,  cloath- 
ed  in  a  purple  garment,  with  a  rod  of  silver  in  his  band ; 
he  accosted  me,  and  I  learned  from  his  discourse,  that 
he  had  formerly  lived  \ipon  our  earth  ;  but  that  now,  he 
was  raised  to  the  enjoyment  of  that  felicity,  which  God 
has  appointed  for  the  reward  of  Prudence  and  Virtue. 
I  see,  said  he,  young  man,  that  you  are  just  returned 
from  the  mansion  of  Ancient  Faine ;  and  I  perceive  by 
your  countenance,  that  you  have  not  been  thoroughly 
satisfied  with  the  goddess  of  the  place,  or  with  the  or- 
der of  that  assembly  over  which  she  presides.  You  mor- 
tals are  prone  to  imagine  that  the  smiles  of  Fame,  are 
always  bestowed  according  to  the  suffrage  of  virtue;  but 
in  this  you  find  you  are  mistaken.  If  your  curiosity 
incline  you  to  enquire  into  the  management  oi  Modern 
Fame,  the  younger  Sister,  follow  me,  and  I  will  con- 
duct you  to  her  abode. 

immediately  he  led  me  to  a  very  spacious  building, 
of  a  mixed  and  crude  sort  of  architecture,  where,  though 
I  admired  the  expensiveness  of  the  materials,  yet  the 
ornaments  methought  were  ill  designed,  and  of  a  vulgar 
taste ;  like  a  clumsy  ungraceful  person  dressed  out  in 
Jewels  and  embroidery.  I  was  particularly  disgusted 
to  see  among  the  ancient  festoons  of  flowers,  Pipes  and 
musical  Reeds,  which  were  adjusted  to  the  columns  of 
the  temple ;  to  see  Mitres,  and  triple  Crowns,  Crosiers, 


TABLE   OF   MODERN   FAME.      153 

ascl  other  ensigns  of  ecclesiastical  discipline.  This  build- 
ing was  surrounded  with  an  innumerable  crowd  of  peo- 
ple ;  and  at  each  of  the  spacious  doors,  which  opened 
on  every  side  of  it,  I  observed  a  tall  majestical  Woman, 
attended  with  a  crowd  of  Figures,  some  like  men  with 
large  volumes  in  their  hands,  and  others  resembling  the 
descriptions  which  Poets  have  given  us  of  the  Muses. 
These  Women,  as  my  conductor  informed  me,  were  the 
Guardians  or  Genii  of  the  several  nations  of  the  world. 
The  Historians  and  the  Muses  were  continually  moving 
from  one  to  another,  yet  I  observed  that  they  never 
visited  some  of  the  gates,  where  the  Women  were  almost 
naked  or  dressed  in  turbans  and  painted  feathers.  We 
entered  the  Temple  :  at  the  upper  end  sate  the  Goddess, 
on  a  throne  of  a  very  uncommon  structure;  it  was  com- 
posed of  different  materials,  laid  up  in  a  beautiful  archi- 
tectonic manner  :  I  observed  that  military  instruments, 
as  standards,  swords,  and  pieces  of  artillery,  most  fre- 
quently appeared  in  the  architecture ;  yet  I  likewise 
cast  my  eye  on  Telescopes,  Rudders,  painting  Pallets, 
geometrical  schemes,  and  instruments  of  handicraft. 
By  the  looks  and  motions  of  people  within  the  Temple, 
I  guessed  that  we  were  come  just  in  time  to  be  present 
at  some  great  ceremony ;  for  I  observed  the  Muses  and 
Historians  stepping  ever  and  anon  from  some  or  other 
of  the  gates,  and  whispering  the  Goddess,  who  gave  each 
of  them  directions,  which  I  could  not  hear.  I  a^ked 
my  conductor  the  purpose  of  this  great  preparation ; 
and  what  meant  the  tn^enty  thrones  which  I  counted 
round  the  Temple,  and  why  some  of  them  were  quite 
empty,  while  others  were  laid  hold  of  by  certain  per- 
sons, who  stood  bcbirnl  Ihcm,  as  if  they  were  waiting  for 


154.  ESSAY    II. 

leave  to  sit  down.  He  answered  me  in  the  following- 
manner  :  "  You  are  come  from  the  Table  of  Ancient 
"  Fame,  the  goddess  there  disposed  of  her  honours  with- 
"  out  reserve  or  conditional  change  ;  her  younger  Sister 
"  is  not  so  constant ;  once  in  every  century  she  reviews 
"  her  assembly,  and  frequently  makes  great  alterations, 
"  removing  her  subjects  from  one  seat  to  a  lower,  or  a 
"  higher;  admitting  strangers,  or  entirely  excluding  her 
"  former  favourites.  To-day  is  the  anniversary  of  her 
"  great  establishment :  the  empty  seats  formerly  belong- 
"  ed  to  those  whom  she  has  now  entirely  banished  from 
"  her  palace.  Those  persons  whom  you  see  standing 
"  behind  some  of  the  thrones,  have  leave  to  renew  their 
"  claim,  and,  if  no  other  candidates  obtain  their  place, 
"  will  continue  in  the  order  which  formerly  belonged 
"  to  them."  While  he  was  speaking  the  Goddess  rose 
from  her  seat,  and  commanded  the  several  nations  in 
her  presence,  to  introduce  their  candidates  in  the  order 
which  she  had  injoined  them.  Upon  this  all  the  crowd 
of  spectators  disappeared,  and  the  Temple  was  left  quite 
empty.  After  a  short  pause  the  trumpet  of  the  Goddess 
soviuded,  the  whole  fabric  shook,  and  my  heart  was  fill- 
ed with  a  rapture  and  astonishment,  which  I  never  felt 
before. 

Immediately  the  Temple  was  crowded  again,  and  from 
the  uppermost  gate  entered  the  most  beautiful  of  those 
divine  Women;  the  Genius  o(  Jia'i/ ;  she  led  in  a  mid- 
dle aged  man,  in  a  very  plain  dress,  who  held  in  his 
hand  a  mariner's  Compass.  The  spectators,  whose  coun- 
tenances expressed  the  most  impatient  suspense,  gave  a 
confused  acclamation,  and  I  heard  at  once  from  an  hun- 
dred mouths,  iheivdmeof  Columbus.  He  advanced  towards 


TABLE  OF  MODERN  FAME.      135 

the  Goddess,  and  sat  down  on  the  highest  place,  with  an 
air  of  ease,  as  if  that  seat  had  been  long  familiar  to  him. 
That,  said  my  conductor,  is  the  man  who  has  enabled 
history  to  outdo  fable ;  nor  are  the  actions  of  the  Gre- 
cian Hercules,  either  for  greatness  of  imagination,  or  for 
boldness,  or  utility,  comparable  to  the  discovery  of  the 
New  World ;  yet  perhaps,  you  will  this  day  see  another 
take  place  of  him. 

The  trumpet  sounded  a  second  time  ;  while  I  was  ex- 
pecting some  other  personage  from  the  gates  nearest  to 
the  Goddess,  I  observed  a  great  hurry  at  the  very  lowest 
end  of  the  Temple.   A  Woman,  whom  I  had  before  taken 
notice  of  among  those  who  appeared  almost  naked  and 
wild,  advanced  from  her  gate  in  a  robe  of  furs,  and  other 
skins,  and  approached  towards  the  Goddess.   The  Genii 
at  the  upper  end  expressed  a  mixture  of  surprize  and 
indignation,  that  so  savage  a  figure  should  now  dare  to 
step  before  them.     As  she  drew  near,  I  observed  the 
person  whom  she  conducted  ;  he  was  a  robust  man  in 
armour,  with  his  own  hair,  a  black  eagle  on  his  breast, 
and  a  carpenter's  axe  in  his  hand  :  I  knew  his  habit 
and  with  the  crowd  pronounced  hastily,  the  name  of 
Peter  the   Great,     He  sat  down  on  the  second  throne, 
and  I  could   not   help  applauding   the  justice  of  the 
Goddess. 

The  third  person  who  appeared,  was  conducted  by 
the  representative  of  Italy,  but  the  moment  he  set  his 
foot  within  the  temple,  the  Muses  and  all  the  attendant 
powers  from  the  other  gates  ran  up  at  once  to  usher 
him;  he  seemed  between  thirty  and  forty  years  of  age. 
The  lyric,  the  comic,  and  the  heroic  Muse,  a  winged 
Virgin  with  a  lyre,  another  with  a  pallet,  a  tfiird  with 


156  ESSAY    II. 

a  cbissel  and  block  of  marble,  and  an  infinite  number  of 
beautiful  young  figures  did  him  honour  as  he  passed ; 
he  returned  their  congratulations  with  smiles  of  the 
highest  complacence,  and  seemed  pleased  with  his  in- 
troduction, chiefly  as  it  secured  him  such  amiable  com- 
panions :  by  his  pontifical  robes,  I  knew  him  for  Leo  X. 
But  our  next  personage  was  ushered  in  a  very  different 
manner  ;  he  entered  from  the  German  gate ;  a  great 
noise  of  disputants  and  logical  terms  preceeded  him, 
his  face  had  a  very  bold,  eager  cast,  his  eyes  were  keen, 
and  his  dress  monkish.  When  he  came  to  sit  down, 
seeiing  Leo  on  the  throne  next  above  him,  he  fell  into 
a  violent  rage,  and  would  needs  have  rose  again.  Leo 
on  the  other  hand,  turned  from  him  with  a  smile  of  high 
contempt,  and  begged  of  the  beautiful  powers,  who 
stood  around  him,  that  they  would  hide  that  rude  crea- 
ture from  his  eyes,  and  defend  his  ears  with  their  har- 
mony, from  the  jargon  which  he  uttered.  I  was  vexed 
at  his  being  thrust  into  so  unsuitable  a  neighbourhood, 
and  asked  my  guide,  who  he  was  ?  "  His  name,  said  he, 
"  is  Martin  Luther ;  he  has  done  more  good  to  man- 
"  kind  than  most  of  those  whose  intentions  were  the  best 
"  and  mos^^t  heroic ;  his  character,  his  views,  and  pas- 
"  sions  were  contemptible  and  hateful.  Remember  what 
"  I  told  you.  Fame  does  not  proceed  on  the  award  of 
"  Wisdom  or  Virtue,  but  is  governed  solely  by  the  Re- 
"  volutions  of  mortal  things." 

I  was  angry  and  disappointed  t,hat  I  had  yet  seen 
none  of  my  countrymen,  when  the  trumpet  sounded, 
and  I  beheld  a  Figure  enternig  from  one  of  the  upper 
gates,  with  a  red  cross  upon  her  shield,  leading  a  ven- 
erable man  in  the  decline  of  life.     I  remembered  the 


TABLE  OF   MODERN    FAME.       157 

face  of  Sir  Isaac  Nexvton ;  he  advanced  in  a  very  com  - 
posed  manner,  without  speaking  a  word,  or  seeming  to 
take  notice  of  the  acclamations  which  came  from  every 
part  of  the  temple.  All  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him, 
and  all  were  proud  that  they  had  seen  him ;  yet  I  ob- 
served a  man  at  the  French  gate,  dressed  in  a  very  gaudy 
fantastic  habit,  who  repined  bitterly  that  his  place  was 
taken  from  him  ;  while  the  guardian  deity  of  his  nation, 
seemed  to  be  musing  upon  a  thousand  schemes  liow  to 
regain  it.  There  was  a  man  too  who  advanced  impu- 
dently from  the  German  gate,  and  would  have  driven 
Neivton,  by  force  from  his  seat  :  he  was  a  very  odd  fig- 
ure, with  a  night-cap  on  his  head,  a  mathematical  dia- 
gram in  one  hand,  and  a  bottle  of  Rhenish  in  the  other. 
The  Goddess  ordered  him  to  be  chastised  for  a  robber, 
and  turned  out  with  infamy. 

At  the  next  trumpet,  the  gay  lady  v\hose  robes  were 
flowered  with  lilie^,,  left  her  favourite  Des  Cartes,  about 
whom,  till  that  moment  she  had  been  so  solicitous,  and 
turned  to  introduce  a  tall  graceful  man,  who  walked 
along  in  a  fuU-boitomed  wig,  with  infinite  self-applause. 
When  he  saw  Leo,  he  made  a  very  complaisant  bow  j 
yet,  as  Shakespeare  says,  he  quenched  his  familiar  smile, 
ivith  an  austere  regard  of  control.  I  suppose  it  was 
Lei:;is  XIV.  and  complained  to  my  guide,  that  such 
a  man  should  be  so  honoured.  "  li.ivc  patience ;  said 
"  he,  meet  me  here  an  hundred  years  hence,  and  you 
"  shall  see  the  Goddess  order  him  under  ground,  to  the 
"  house  of  Evil  Fame ;  at  present,  she  must  have  her 
"  way.  Look  round,  and  see  if  you  are  better  satisfied 
"  with  him  who  comes  next."  I  saw  a  composed  mat- 
ron-like figure,  bring  in  a  man  in  armour,  with  signs  of 
Oo 


158  ESSAY    II. 

the  highest  veneration  and  gratitude.     "  That,  said  my 
"  conductor,  is  William  I.  Prince  of  Orange,  a  name 
"  that  must  be  venerable   upon  your  globe,  as  long  as 
"  public   virtue   is   rememl»ered   among   you ;    and  of 
*'  this  divine  man  1  can  prophesy,  that  he  will  never 
"  lose  his  place.     The  youth  who  is  now  entering,  will 
"  perhaps  give  you  more  pleasure ;  and  indee<l,  though 
"  his  merits  and  actions  are  not  of  so  high  a  kind,  yet 
"  his  virtue  shone  perhaps  in  a  more  severe  trial,  in  a 
"  course  of  uninterupted  prosperity  :  so  that  if  his  times 
"  had  given  him  an  opportunity,  he  was  equal  to  any 
"  thing  v,hich  can  be  acted  by  a  man  and  a  soldier." 
I  looked  round,  and  beheld  from  the  English  gate,  a 
young  man  in  armour,  with  a  Spear  of  Ebony,  and 
beautiful  as  Raphael  or  B'lilton  could  imagine.     You 
need  not,  said  I,  tell  me  who  this  is ;  I  see  the  motto  of 
IVnlex  on  his  shield,   and  the  Sable  Spear  in  his  hand, 
vihich  has  rendered  the  name  of  Edivnrd  or  of  Plantage- 
^ei,  u>c1p$<.  All  hail !  thou  blameless  ornament  of  my  na- 
tive country. — I  was  going  on  in  a  kind  of  enthusiasm 
when  my  conductor  checked  me,  and  bade  me  take  no- 
tice of  the  next  who  entered.     I  found  a  greater  noise 
and  disorder  than  I  had  observed  before.     GernuiTii/  and 
Spain  l::id  joined  to  introduce  a  coarse,  robust  man ; 
and  Frar.ce  endeavoured  to  place  before  him  a  tall  ma- 
jestic person,  with  a  crown  on  his  head,  who  looked 
upon  his  antagorjist  with  an  air  of  reproach   and  dis- 
dain.    This  was  Francis  I.     However  his  opponent  got 
the  Ix-ttrr,  and   took  his  place  accordingly.     By  the 
Imperial  Eagle,  which  he  wore  at  his  breast,  I  sup- 
posed it  to  he  Charles  V.     At  sitting  down  he  laughed 
at  his  adversary,  "  And,  said  he,  if  I  must  have  given 


TABLE    OF    MODERN   FAME.      159 

"  way,  it  should  never  have  been  to  that  doughty,  ro- 
"  mantic  Knight,  my  prisoner ;  but  to  this  great  man, 
"  who  gave  me  immortahty,"  pointing  to  Titian,  who 
stood  in  the  crowd  of  bis  attendants. 

The  next  person  that  entered,  was  dressed  in  a  morn- 
ing gown,  and  ushered  in  by  the  lady  of  the  Red-cross. 
He  had  no  Bymbol  nor  instrument  in  his  liand ;  but 
shewed  a  very  thoughtful  and  penetrating  countenance. 
lie  walketl  up  in  a  profound  silence,  and  made  no  re- 
turn, but  a  look  of  grave  displeasure,  to  the  salutation 
of  his  next  neighbour.  However  he  took  very  respect- 
ful notice  of  some  at  the  Table,  particularly  of  Columbus 
and  Newton.  Z.eo  seemed  afraid  of  him,  L«/Aer  made 
him  a  very  gracious  bow,  and  would  have  been 
extremely  intimate  with  him  ;  but  received  a  cold,  for- 
bidding frown.  By  this  account  of  him,  the  reader  will 
know  as  well  as  I  did,  who  saw  what  passed,  that  this 
was  Locke.  The  next  entrance  was  made  from  the 
Italian  gate,  and  there  appeared  a  thin  meagre  man, 
whose  countenance  expressed  great  pain  and  dejection 
of  spirit,  as  if  he  had  been  worn  out  with  famine  and 
torture.  He  held  in  his  hand  a  telescope;  and  my 
conductor  tohl  me  it  was  Galileo,  whose  face  retained 
those  indelible  marks  of  the  blind,  brutal  zeal  of  his 
ghostly  tormentors.  He  sat  down  by  Locke,  who 
seemed  infinitely  pleased  with  his  company,  and  told 
him  that  he  had  been  endeavouring  to  cure  mankind  of 
that  stupid  reverence  for  Ruffians  and  Murderers,  who 
masked  their  inhumanity  with  the  name  of  Religion. 
After  the  next  trumpet  there  was  a  long  pause,  and  no 
body  appeared.  I  heard  a  great  bustle  at  the  German 
gate.     The  Goddess  asked  what  was  the  matter.     The 


160 


ESSAY    II. 


robust  German  Tutelary  made  answer,  that  she  was  in- 
troducing one,  who,  if  useful  discoveries  could  challenge 
respect  in  that  place,  was  perhaps  intitled  to  the  highest 
seat.      Immediately   I  heard    words  of  a   very  rough 
sound  i  Guttemberg,  Fust,  Mmtz,  Strasburgh  !     I  then 
understood  that  the  crowd  of  Gennan^  at  that  gate, 
were  disputing  which  of  them  should  enter  as  the  dis- 
coverer of  Printing.    The  contest  continued  a  long  time, 
and  grew  still  more  violent.     Upon  which  the  Goddess 
spoke  out,  that  when  they  could  agree  about  the  in- 
ventor,  she  would  frankly  allow  his  claim ;  but  that  till 
then,  she  would  put  in  his  place,  one  whose  merit  and 
whose  glory  «  as  now  unquestionably  established,  after 
as  great  disputes  about  it,  as  had  ever  divided  her  sub- 
jects.    Upon  this,  she  made  a  sign  to  the  Red-cross 
lady,  who  accordingly  introduced  a  venerable  old  man, 
whom  I  did  not  at  all  know.     He  was  attended  by  a 
f'male  figure  with  a  Patera  in  her  hand,  resembling  the 
ancient  figures  of  Salus.    I  was  surprised  at  the  sight  of 
an  English  worthy,  with  whom  I  was  not  acquainted  ; 
but  my  guide  informed  me  that  his  name  was  Harvey : 
"  And  see,  said  he,  how  enviously  those  other  Tutelar 
"  Genii  regard  him,"  pointing  to  France  and  Italy, 

'J  he  trumpet  again  sounded,  and  the  guardian  of  Ita- 
Jy  moved.  As  soon  as  she  returned,  there  was  a  con- 
fused noise  of.  Evil  Fame !  and  doivnward  with  him ! 
A  great  herd  of  Priests,  and  Monks,  and  prime  Minis- 
ters joined  in  the  cry;  and  among  them  was  a  young 
man,  with  a  crown  on  his  head,  who  made  the  loudest 
noise,  and  who  assured  the  Goddess  of  Fame  that  the 
person  coming  in,  was  an  abandoned  profligate,  and 
that  he  himself  bad  a  nriuch  better  title  to  the  next  va. 


TABT.E    OF   MODERN   FAME.      161 

cant  seat.  The  Goddess  looked  on  him  with  great  con- 
tempt, and  bid  him  hold  his  peace,  else  she  would  order 
him  below  stairs,  and  put  him  again  under  his  father's 
tuition.  At  this  he  was  silent,  and  Machiavel  appear- 
ed. Leo  gave  him  a  very  familiar  look,  as  if  he  was  glad 
to  see  him,  and  congratulated  him  upon  the  honour  which 
he  had  now  obtained,  of  being  seated  at  the  same  Table 
with  one  of  the  great  family,  who  had  been  his  old  pat- 
rons. But  Machiavel  answered  him  only  with  a  look 
of  shame,  dislike,  and  indignation.  The  Italian  Genius 
moved  again  towards  the  gate,  and  returned  with  two 
men,  not  being  able  to  resolve  which  of  them  should 
enter.  These  were  Tasso  and  Ariosto.  She  herself  in- 
clined chiefly  to  the  latter;  but  the  majority  of  the  spec- 
tators opposed  it,  and  Tusso  took  his  place.  At  the  next 
trumpet  the  Tutelary  of  France  went  out  with  the  as- 
sured air  that  was  natural  to  her,  and  brought  in  a  tall, 
slender  man,  in  a  large  wig,  with  a  very  fine  sneer  upon 
his  face.  She  said  his  name  was  Boileau,  and  that  no 
body  could  pretend  to  dispute  that  place  with  him. 
However  the  stately  Genius  of  England  opposed  her; 
her  remonstrances  prevailed,  and  Pope  took  the  place 
which  Boileau  thought  belonged  to  him.  Upon  thi^, 
there  arose  among  the  other  Genii  a  great  clamour 
against  the  Red-cross  lady,  mixed  with  many  signs  of 
ridicule  and  scorn.  She  asked  what  they  were  displeas- 
ed at :  they  answered,  that  she  should  contend  so  eager- 
ly for  her  own  glory,  and  yet  so  obstinately  neglect  a 
claim  upon  which  she  might  best  found  it ;  and  which, 
whenever  she  adv.anted  it,  they  would  all  give  way  to. 
She  turned  round,  and  !»aw  IXacon  ready  to  enter,  with- 
out  asking   her  to  conduct  h'm.     She  looked  at  hi 


162  ESSAY     If. 

with  great  disgust;  yet  with  such  an  air  as  a  tender 
mother  discovers,  when  her  favourite  child  is  guilty  of 
some  inexcusable  fault.     She  led  him  in  with  great  re- 
luctance, and  shewed  him  his  place,  the  next  vacant  one 
below  Pope.     He  stood,  and  looked  upon  it,  and  all  the 
spectators  seemed  ashamed  that  he  had  not  a  higher 
seat.     Locke,  Neivton,  Harvej/,  and  Machiavd,  all  cried 
out  to  Pope  to  rise,  and  give  place  ;  but  he  took  no  no- 
tice of  them,  only  he  turned  his  head  another  way  ;  and 
I  beard  him  mutter  the  words,  xoisest,  brightest,  vieanest. 
Upon  this.  Bacon  looked  around,  and  drew  the  eyes  of 
all  the  assembly.     His  presence,  at  that  time,  had  an 
effect  upon  them,  like  the  presence  of  a  descended  God 
upon  those  mortals  whom  he  favours  with  his  converse. 
Then  raising  his  head,  "  Sure  I  am,"  said  he,  with  a 
"  voice  of  authority,  and  a  most  graceful  manner,  "Sure 
"  I  am,  that  if  there  be  any  place  belonging  to  me  in 
"  this  assembly,  it  must  be  one,  nearest  to  the  Goddess  ; 
"and  one  where  I  may  best  avail  myself  of  her  power." 
Immediately  the  assembly  with  one  accord  invited  him 
forward ;  the  Goddess  beckoned  him  to  draw  near,  and 
seated  him  on  the  highest  throne.     Columbus  himself 
officiously  gave  way  ;  telling  him,  that  the  discovery  of 
a  New  World  was  but  a  slender  acquisition  of  crude 
materials,  to  be  improved  and  perfected  in  that  immense 
World  of  human  Knowledge  and  human  Power,  which 
he  had  first  discovered,  and  through  which  he  had  taught 
other  mortals  to  travel  with  security. 

The  next  that  entered  was  a  man  in  irr.i  armour, 
with  a  baskct-hiited  sword.  Fya)id^,  C-viavy,  and  Italy 
turned  pale  at  the  sight  of  him;  and  I  heard  them 
whisper  the  name  of  G'<'stavus  AdoJphus.     He  was  fol- 


TABLE   OF   MODERN   FAME.       l65 

lowed  by  a  beautiful  youth,  of  a  very  sweet  and  gentle 
aspect.  As  he  drew  nearer,  I  knew  him  to  be  Raphael. 
Leo  heard  of  his  admission  with  an  extravagant  joy, 
and  could  hardly  be  restrained  from  quitting  his  place, 
that  he  might  sit  next  him.  Then  appeared  a  blind,  old 
man,  with  the  air  of  an  ancient  prophet,  supported  and 
led  in  by  the  Genius  of  England.  When  I  knew  him, 
I  was  extremely  discontented,  that  no  more  honourable 
place  had  been  reserved  for  Milton.  "  You  forget,  said 
"my  conductor,  that  the  lowest  place  in  this  assembly, 
"  is  one  of  twenty,  the  most  honourable  gifts,  which 
"  Fame  has  to  bestow  among  the  whole  human  species. 
"  Milton  is  now  admitted  for  the  first  time,  and  was 
"not  but  with  difficulty  admitted  at  all.  But  have  pa- 
"  tience  for  a  it\y  years  longer ;  he  will  be  continually 
"  ascending  in  the  Goddess's  favour,  and  may  perhaps  at 
"  last  obtain  the  highest,  or  at  least  the  second  place 
"  in  these  her  solemnities.  In  the  mean  time,  see  how 
"  he  is  received,  by  the  man  who  is  best  qualified  here 
"  to  judge  of  his  dignity."  I  looked  at  him  again,  and 
saw  Raphael  making  him  the  most  aflectionate  congrat- 
ulations, accounting  himself  happy  that  he  was  seated 
next  him,  and  insisting  on  his  taking  the  superior  hand. 
There  now  remained  but  one  ]>lace  to  be  disposed  of. 
The  Tutelar  deity  of  Spain  led  in,  towards  it,  a  slender 
man,  with  black  piercing  eyes,  an  aquiline  nose,  and  a 
swarthy  complexion.  He  had  lost  one  of  his  hand*;,  by 
which  mark  I  knew  him  to  he  Cervantes.  He  expected 
no  opposition,  as  the  place  had  fonnerly  belonged  to 
him  ;  but  in  this  point  he  was  mistaken.  For  Molicrc 
advanced  from  the  French  entrance,  and  disputed  the 
chair,  with  infinite  pleasantry  and  good  humour.     Cer- 


164  ESSAY    III. 

vantes  however  kept  his  place  ;  but  while  their  contro- 
versy was  hardly  yet  decided,  a  third  candidate  appear- 
ed with  a  great  shout  of  clamorous  mirth  from  the  whole 
assembly.  They  told  me  he  had  brushed  in  by  stealth, 
and  in  spite  of  the  grave  lady  who  conducted  his  coun- 
trymen. I  knew  the  arch  leer,  the  nut-brown  bays,  and 
the  Foppington  step  of  my  facetious  friend,  CoUey  Cibber. 
But  his  appearance,  his  arguments,  and  the  eloquence 
with  which  he  delivered  them,  quite  disjointed  the  re- 
mainder of  my  dream,  and  I  waked  in  a  very  hearty  fit 
of  laughter. 


THE  BALANCE  OF   POETS. 
December,  MDCCXLVI. 

iW .  De  Piles  is  one  of  the  most  judicious  authors  on 
the  art  of  Painting.  He  has  added  to  his  treatise  on 
that  subject,  a  very  curious  paper,  which  he  calls  The 
Balance  of  the  Painters.  He  divides  the  whole  art  of 
Painting  into  four  heads;  Composition,  Design  or  Draw- 
ing, Colouring,  and  Expression  ;  under  each  of  which, 
he  assigns  the  degree  of  perfection  which  the  several 
masters  have  attained.  To  this  end  he  first  settles  the 
degree  of  sovereign  perfection,  which  has  never  been 
attained,  and  which  is  beyond  even  the  ta.ste  or  know- 
ledge of  the  best  critics  at  present ;  this  he  rates  as*  the 
twentieth  degree.  The  nineteenth  degree  is  the  high- 
est of  which  the  human  mind  has  any  comprehension, 
but  which  has  not  yet  been  expressed  or  executed  by 
the  greatest  mat-ters.  The  eighteenth  is  that  to  which 
the  greattat  masters  have  actually  attained;    and  so 


THE   BALANCE  OF  POETS.  105 

downwards  according  to  their  comparative  Genius  and 
Skill.  Monsieur  de  Piles  makes  four  columns  of  big 
four  chief  articles  or  parts  of  painting  ;  and  opposite  to 
the  names  of  the  great  Masters,  writes  their  several  de. 
gress  of  perfection  in  each  article.  The  thought  is  very 
ingenious;  and  had  it  been  executed  with  accuracy, 
and  a  just  rigour  of  taste,  would  have  been  of  the  great . 
est  use  to  the  lovers  of  that  noble  Art.  But  we  can 
hardly  expect  that  any  man  should  be  exactly  right  in 
his  judgment,  through  such  a  multiplicity  of  the  most 
delicate  ideas. 

J  have  often  wished  to  see  a  balance  of  this  kind,  that 
might  help  to  settle  our  comparative  esteem  of  the 
greater  Poeis  in  the  several  polite  lan;i,uages.  But  as 
1  have  never  seen  nor  heard  of  any  such  design,  I  have 
here  attempted  it  myself,  according  to  the  best  infor- 
mation which  my  private  ta-^te  could  aflbrd  me.  I  shall 
be  extremely  glad  if  any  of  your  ingenious  correspon- 
dents will  correct  me  where  I  am  wrong  ;  and  in  the 
mean  time  shall  explain  the  general  foundations  of  my 
scheme,  where  itdifi'ers  from  that  of  the  French  Author. 
For  he  has  not  taken  in  a  sufficient  number  of  articles, 
to  form  a  complete  judgment  of  the  art  of  Painting ; 
and  though  he  had,  yet  Poetry  requires  many  more. 
I  shall  retain  his  numbers,  and  suppose  twenty  to  be  the 
degree  of  absolute  perfection  ;  and  eighteen  the  highest 
that  any  Poet  has  attained. 

His  first  article  is  Composition  ;  in  which  his  balance 
is  quite  equivocal  and  uncertain.  For  there  are,  in 
painting,  two  sorts  of  Composition,  utterly  difierent  from 
each  other.  One  relates  tjnly  to  the  eye,  the  other  to 
the  passions ;  so  that  the  former  may  not  improperly  be 


166  ESSAY     III. 

stiled  Picturesque  Composition,  and  is  concerned  only 
with  such  a  disposition  of  the  figures,  as  may  render 
the  whole  group  of  the  picture  intire  and  well  united ; 
the  latter  is  concerned  with  such  attitudes  and  connec- 
tions of  the  figures,  as  may  effectually  touch  the  pas- 
sions of  the  spectator.  There  are,  in  Poetry,  two  analo- 
gous  kinds  of  Composition  or  Ordonnance;  one  of  which 
belongs  to  the  general  plan  or  structure  of  the  work, 
and  is  an  object  of  the  cool  judgment  of  a  connoisseur ; 
the  other  relates  to  the  most  striking  situations,  and  the 
most  moving  incidents.  And  though  the.e  are  most 
strictly  connected  in  truth  and  in  the  principles  of  art, 
yet  in  fact,  we  see  them  very  frequently  disjoined;  and 
they  depend  indeed  on  different  powers  of  the  mind. 
Sir  Richard  Blackmore,  a  name  for  contempt,  or  for  ob- 
livion in  the  commonwealth  of  Poetry,  had  more  of  the 
former  than  Shakespeare ;  who  had  more  of  the  latter 
than  any  man  that  ever  lived.  The  former  we  shall 
call  Critical  Ordonnance,  the  latter  Pathetic.  And  these 
make  the  two  first  columns  of  our  Balance. 

It  may  perhaps  be  necessary  to  observe  here,  that 
though  literally  speaking,  these  two  articles  relate  only 
to  Epic  and  Dramatic  Poetry  ;  yet  we  shall  apply  them 
to  every  other  species.  For  in  Lyric  Poetry,  in  Satire, 
in  Comedy,  in  the  Ethic  Epistle,  one  author  may  excel 
another  in  the  general  plan  and  disposition  of  his  work  ; 
and  yet  fall  short  of  him  in  the  arguments,  allusions,  and 
other  circumstances,  which  he  employs  to  move  his 
reader,  and  to  obtain  the  end  of  his  particular  compo- 
sition. 

Our  next  article  answers  to  that  which  Monsieur  de 
Piles  calls  Expression ;  but  this  likewise,  in  Poetry,  re- 


THE  BALANCE  OF  POETS.         167 

quires  two  columns.     Painting  repressents  only  a  single 
instant  of  time;  consequently  it  expresses  only  a  pre- 
sent passion,  without  giving  any  idea  of  the  general 
Character  or  turn  of  mind.     But  Poetry  expresses  this 
part,  as  well  as  the  other ;  and  the  same  Poet  is  not 
equally  excellent  in  both.     Homer  far  surpasses  Virgil 
in  the  general  delineation  of  Characters  and  Manners; 
but  there  are,  in  Virgil,  some  expressions  of  particular 
Passions,  greatly  superior  to  any  in  Homer.     I  shall 
therefore  divide  this  head  of  Expression,  and  call  the  for- 
mer part  Dramatic  Expression,  and  the  latter  Incidental. 
Our  next  article  answers  to  what  the  painters  call 
Design,  Or  the  purity,  beauty,  and   grandeur  of   the 
outline  in  drawing;  to  which  the  taste  of  Beauty  in 
description,  and  the  truth  of  expression,  are  analogous 
in   Poetry.      But  as  the  term  Design,  except  among 
painters,   is  generally  supposed  to  mean  the  general 
plan  and  contrivance  of  a  work  ;  I  shall  therefore  omit 
it  to  prevent  mistakes ;  and  substitute  instead  of  it,  The 
Truth  of  Juste,  by  which  to  distinguish  the  fifth  column. 
And  indeed,  this  article  would  likewi.-^e  admit  of  several 
subdivisions;  for  some  Poets  are  excellent  for  the  gran- 
deur of  their  taste,  others  for  its  beauty,  and  others  for 
a  kind  of  neatness.     But  they  may  all  be  ranged  under 
the  same  head ;  as  Michael  Angela,  Raphael,  and  Pous- 
sin  are  all  characterized  from  their  Design.  The  Truth 
of  Taste  will,  ccEteris  paribus,  belong  to  the  first,  in  the 
highest  degree  :  but  we  must  always  remember  that 
there  can  be  no  greatness  without  justness  and  deco- 
rum ;  which  is  the  reason  that  Raphael  is  counted  high- 
er in   Design  than  Michael  Angela.     For  though  tlii^ 
latter  had  a  grander  and  more  masculine  Ta&t< ,  yet 


168  ESSAY    III. 

Raphael,  with  a  truely  grand  one,  was  incomparably 
more  correct  and  true. 

It  is  not  easy  to  assign  that  part  of  Poetry,  which 
answers  to  the  colouring  of  a  painter.  A  very  good 
judge  of  painting,  calls  Xhe  Colouring,  the  procuress  of 
her  sister.  Design ;  who  gains  admirers  for  her,  that 
otherwise  might  not  perhaps  be  captivated  with  her 
charms.  If  we  trace  this  idea  through  Poetry,  we  shall 
perhaps  determine  poetical  Colouring  to  be  such  a  gen- 
eral choice  of  words,  such  an  order  of  grammatical 
construction,  and  such  a  movement  and  turn  of  the 
Verse,  as  are  most  favourble  to  the  Poet's  intention, 
distinct  from  the  ideas  which  those  words  convey.  For 
whoever  has  reflected  much  on  the  pleasure  which  Poe- 
try communicates,  will  recollect  many  words  which, 
taken  singly,  excite  very  similar  ideas,  but  which  have 
very  different  effects,  according  to  their  situation  and 
connection  in  a  period.  It  is  impossible  to  read  Virgil, 
but  especially  Milton,  without  making  this  observation 
a  thousand  times.  The  sixth  column  of  the  Balance 
shall  therefore  be  named  from  this  Poetical  Colouring. 

As  for  Versification,  its  greatest  merit  is  already  pro- 
vided for  by  the  last  article;  but  as  it  would  seem 
strange  to  many,  should  we  entirely  omit  it,  the  seventh 
column  i'hall  therefore  be  allotted  for  it,  as  far  as  it  re- 
lates to  the  mere  harmony  of  sound. 

The  eighth  article  belongs  to  the  Moral  of  the  several 
Poets,  or  to  the  truth  and  merit  of  the  sentiments  which 
they  express,  or  the  dispositions  which  they  inculcate, 
with  respect  to  Religion,  Civil  Society,  or  Private  Life. 
The  reader  must  not  be  surprized,  if  he  find  the  Hea- 
then Poets  not  so  much  degraded  as  he  might  expect 


THE   BALANCE   OF  POETS.  100 

in  this  particular;  for  though  their  representations. of 
Divine  Providence  be  so  absurd  and  shocking,  yet  this 
article  is  intended  to  characterise  the  comparative  good- 
ness of  their  moral  intention^  and  not  the  comparative 
soundness  of  their  speculative  opinions.  Where  little  is 
Siteh,  little  is  required. 

The  ninth  and  last  column  contains  an  estimate  of 
their  comparative  value  and  eminence  zipon  the  whole. 
This  is  greatly  wanting  in  the  French  author.  The  de- 
grees of  perfection  which  he  assigns  to  Rubens,  make 
up  a  sum,  when  the  four  articles  are  added  to  each  other, 
exactly  equal  to  what  he  calculates  for  Raphael;  so  that 
one,  not  greatly  versed  in  the  study  of  pictures,  might 
imagine  from  thence  that  Rubens  was  as  great  a  painter 
as  Raphael.  This  general  estimate  is  also  more  neces- 
sary in  the  present  scheme,  as  some  of  the  articles,  par- 
ticularly that  of  Ordonnance,  are  applied  equally  to 
every  species  of  Poetry  ;  so  that  a  Satirist  uill  be  rated 
as  high,  in  that  article,  as  an  Epic  Poet;  provided  his 
Ordonnance  be  as  perfect  for  Satire,  as  that  of  the  other 
is  for  Heroic  Poetry.  Upon  this  account,  justice  to  the 
manes  of  the  divine  Poets  requires  that  we  should  ac- 
knowledge their  ])re-eminence  upon  the  whole,  after 
having  thus  set  their  inferiors  upon  a  level  with  them 
in  particular  parts. 

You  see  this  general  method  is  here  applied  to  a  ftw 
the  greater  names  of  Pottry  in  most  polite  languages. 
I  have  avoitled  to  bring  in  any  living  authors,  In-cause 
I  know  the  vanity  and  emulation  of  the  Poetical  Tribe; 
which  I  mention,  Itst  the  reader  should  find  i'ault  with 
me  for  omitting  Voltaire,  Metastasis,  or  any  favourite 
author  of  our  own  nation. 

Pp 


ESSAY     III. 


THE  BALANCE 
OF  POETS. 


ArJosto     -     - 
Boileau     -     - 
Cervantes    -     - 
Corneille     -     - 
Daute     -     -     - 
Euripides     -     - 
Homer     -     -     - 
Horace     -     -     ■ 
Lucretius     -     . 
Milton     -     .     - 
Moliere     -     - 
Pindar     -     -     - 
Pope     -     -     - 
Racine     -     -     - 
Shakespeare     - 
Sophocles     -     - 
Spenser     -     - 
Tasso     -     -     - 
Terence     -     - 
Virgil     -     -     - 


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